How To Bum A Cigarette
by How To Fight Loneliness
Summary: Dylan's been basically living at the hospital for a year and a half. But when Jack Mercer is wheeled into the picture, he begins to make her question her sanity as well as the way she's been living her life. First fic please R&R.
1. They Say The Average Person

A/N: So this is my first story on I have no doubt in my mind that this will be the most unpopular thing on here but I just thought I'd give it a try. This was just an idea I had, the completely and utterly overused Jack-is-alive thing, almost as overused as the Mercer sister plot line, but hey, what can we say? They're both good additional plots for this movie. Disclaimer: I don't own anything from the movie "Four Brothers". It's characters (but if I did….), plot, or anything related. 

---------------------

Title: How to Bum a Cigarette 

**Preview:**

"**Can I bum one?"**

"**Aren't you supposed to be in critical condition?"**

"**Is there a point to that statement?"**

"**You're having a laugh right?"**

"**Hey, I'm just tryin' to get a cigarette here."**

"**With the amount of meds you're on you will most likely _die_ as soon as you inhale."**

"**Believe it or not that's a risk I'm willing to take."**

"**Well, _I'm _not, okay? I'm not going to jail just for giving you a cigarette and watching as you keel over in front of me."**

"**Well, that's sweet of you to be worried for my well being… But… that is a risk… I'm willing to take… Why are you looking at me like I'm brain damaged?"**

"**Because you're asking me to do something, which is actually illegal in the eyes of this… Prison. An act, which could potentially put me in an actual prison or fined money I just don't have, _just_ so you can feed your unhealthy habit. WE'VE ONLY JUST MET EACH OTHER!"**

"**Oh come on, it's not like I'm asking you to show me your breasts."**

"**Oh for God's sake, I don't care what you say, I am _not_ going to give you a cigarette!"**

**Brief silence.**

"**So I guess that's a no to showing me your breasts, too."**

"**Go to hell!"**

**Summary: 22 year old Dylan Harrison's boyfriend has been in a coma for a year. To keep herself from feeling guilty, she sits by his bed for 8 hours everyday, waiting, hoping that he will wake up. Until one day, Jack Mercer is wheeled into her life and she starts feeling like she's lost control of herself.**

Chapter One: They Say The Average Person… 

They say that the average person spends 25 years sleeping. That statistic always bothered me. Any statistic that starts with the words, "They say that the average person…"pisses the hell out of me, which was weird because for the last year my life has been here about every statistic in the book. First of all, who is "they", anyway? I guess it could be the scientists, psychologists and doctors who conduct the studies could be the mysterious "they". Then again, it could be the proverbial "they". Also, what normal (average) person, who is so obviously bored with their life and is actually willing to submit themselves to this study? That alone would certainly not make them average. I mean, surely if "they" are watching this person's sleeping habits for his (or her) entire life, until the day the poor guy died, which meant that the poor bastard wouldn't even be able to find out what he'd lived his life trying to get answered, the whole entire thing would be a complete waste of a life. All for some useless information. And when they say "average"… Well, I suppose anyone could be average, I mean people in a coma could be average, but they were asleep all the time, sometimes years, and--

God, I thought to myself, leaning forward in the uncomfortable hospital chair and burying my aching head in my hands. I'm not tired, I told myself. I looked up from my palms, and leaned my head back to look out the window upside down. Could it really be dark outside already? A nurse came in and I could sense her giving me an off look. I rolled my eyes, before surfacing again. She was standing over his bed, giving him that sympathetic look all of them gave whenever they were in here. 

"He's looking better today," she stated, whether or not the comment was directed at me, I could never tell. I sat up in my chair and looked over the metal bars of the hospital bed.

_Does he? _I couldn't help asking myself, internally._ Does it make me an awful person if I can't tell if my own boyfriend of two years (three if you count this past one) is looking better or not? And is it possible to only just start looking better after so long, or did they just say that to make me feel better, like maybe that all this waiting had finally paid off. He certainly doesn't look dead… GODDAMN THIS FUCKING HEADACHE!_

"Yeah, he does," I said, finally, trying to at least pretend that the "news" made me happy. I touched his hand and traced the outlines of his fingernails. Even after this long, I sometimes forgot what state he was in, and got offended when he didn't squeeze my hand or anything in returned. I sighed and dropped my hand back down.

The nurse looked at me sympathetically, a look that made me want to kill every time I saw it. I smiled at her, weakly. "It's six o'clock. You should go home, get some rest," she said, softly, picking up the chart at the end of the bed.

Shaking my head, I stood up, pushing the chair backward with the backs of my knees. "No, as nice as sleep sounds right now, I have to be at work at 8," responded, in a raspy voice that I used to thought sounded sexy, now it was just my normal tone because of smoking and stress, both habits which I took on before all this started, yet were becoming more of a way of life, one habit curing the other. I looked down at him again, fiddling with his idle right hand, by his side – his writing hand. "He looks so peaceful," I said to myself more than to the nurse standing by. It was a lie and a dreadful one, at that. I couldn't look at him without seeing… Nothing. It wasn't him, and as the way things were going, it would probably never be him again.

I leaned down and whispered into his ear, "Sleep well, Michael." After kissing his cheek for the second time that day, I rose from the bed and walked down the long row of empty beds and out the door.

XXXXXXXXXXX 

"Fuck," I swore, as I stubbed my toe on the corner of my bed. My toes had been permanently bruised ever since I moved in about a year ago when Michael first went into hospital, when I realized that my job didn't pay enough for me to carry on living there. The apartment was tiny, so tiny, in fact, there was only about foot between the wall and the bed, which meant that, every time I got the hell out of bed, the klutz in me would trip up on the tiny legs of the bed, which then causes me to curl up on my bed, my face wincing in unbelievable pain. Then I'd get back up, resisting the need to pass out, and most of the time end up catching myself on the damn thing again. Either that or I accidentally step on my cat, Sadie, which then meant I'd have to spend about a half an hour apologizing profusely until I feel that she actually has forgiven me. It is true what they say about your pets ruling your life.

I was late. Again. Despite what I had told the nurse, I did end up sleeping for two hours. Or should I say oversleeping. Being late was a ritual of mine, much to the dismay of every single employer I've ever come across. Still, I was usually only about 10 minutes late. At the latest. Although, lately it had been later because I was spending all my waking hours with my boyfriend at the hospital and then go home, take a shower, possibly take a nap for about an hour and half and then get up for work. Not that my work was anything important. I mean, I wasn't saving lives or solving crime. As much as I wished I was, I wasn't. At least they get paid more. Instead, I was working at this crappy diner across the street, working 12 hours a night for eight dollars an hour, pouring coffee for the people of Detroit who only came out at night. And let me tell you, there are a lot of angry, hungry, caffeine addicted people out there. And I've encountered too many of them. Afterwards I would go home, take another shower, a possible nap, and then head back to the hospital and spend the rest of the day there.

Detroit was cold this time of year. Snow lay on the ground thick and there were ice patches everywhere you stepped. Despite this, the "lucky" women who worked at the diner weren't allowed to wear anything more than the short, black skirts, blouses, and white apron we were supposed to wear. The fabric always did feel itchy on my skin, as though the manufacturer had tried to make it warmer, and no matter how long or how many times you washed the damn things, the feeling remained the same. I'd try desperately to pull the skirt down at least to my knees, so that the cold winter air wouldn't lick past my bare legs as I ran across the street to the diner and into the alley next to it, but I had no such luck. Those things were made of armor and steel. It was my uniform and the Sunnyside Diner had been my prison for the past 3 years. I was still trying to save up for college, which was now a lost cause. It had been since I left high school.

I arrived at work at about 8:20 PM, trying to finish my latest cigarette and repeatedly kicking myself mentally for oversleeping. I spotted a short, fat woman with short black hair and slowed my speed walk, looking at the ground. My manager. She was waiting by the backdoor.

"You're late," she said, pushing the door open for me.

After taking one last drag, I rushed through the door, manager in toe. "I know, I'm sorry, Suzie," I said, as I weaved through the hot kitchen, trying desperately not to look back into the face of doom. "I was at the hospital again today and I was trying to get a few hours sleep in and—"

She turned me around by my shoulders so I was facing her. "Just because you think you're Wonder Woman, doesn't mean you are." She spun me back around and continued to direct me to the coffee machine by my shoulders. "You need the same amount of sleep as everyone else here. And just because your boyfriend has been sleeping for a year, does not mean that you have hours of your own sleep to spare." We had stopped in front of that all too familiar coffee maker. "Now," she said. "Take a shot of espresso and get to work." I nodded, even though I knew she'd gone. I looked in the mirror that was behind the glasses and plates.

Dark circles surrounded my bloodshot grey eyes. Circles, which I had tried desperately to cover up with make up and eyeliner, unsuccessfully. My skin, which was always pale, was pastier than usual. There was a brunette mess of tangles, curls and pins on top of my head. I had tried to brush it after I slept on it while it was still wet. I sighed as a piece of hair fell in front of my eyes. After staring at it for about 3 and 48 seconds, I finally came to the conclusion that I was one of the most depressing people alive.

"Hey, sweetheart!" a voice called out from behind me, causing my train of thought to crash and burn. I turned around to reveal a middle aged fat man, one eyebrow raised expectantly, sitting at one of the tacky, red plastic booths. I resisted the urge to flip him off. Instead, I merely smiled to show that I was listening to whatever his dirty mouth had to say. "Can I get a latte over here?" It took all my strength to keep that smile plastered on my face. After a year or three of practice you get pretty good at the pretending-to-care thing.

"Yeah, no problem, sir," I shouted back to him, before turning around to the machine again and muttering, "Jackass," to myself.

Mark, Sunnyside's cook, walked past me and put a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Don't let them get to you, Dylan," he said, in his thick accent. He told me that everyday ever since I had started working here. Yet, somehow, his words never got old, and they would calm me down. Well, you know, as calm as a severely neurotic person can get. Mark was one of my only friends at the diner. I mean, if you didn't count all the blatantly retarded, sophomoric employees that worked there. But then, I was never one to get attached to anyone.

There was the waitress, Leslie, the sad divorcee, who always looked like she was about to cry, but wore so much make up that I think if she did finally break down and cry, the four horsemen of the apocalypse would be unleashed. I often wondered if her husband got her shower in the divorce as well as everything else, since she constantly had grease almost dripping from her depressed little head and the smell of body odor that followed her around _almost _overpowered the smell of coffee. I don't know which smell I preferred. Well, after three years, it's kind of hard to distinguish between the two.

Then there was the other waitress, Megan. She was about four years my senior and still thought she was going to get to college. So obviously lost on the way there, she was completely and utterly – blonde. She was the looker of the diner. I think that's why she was hired in the first place. She's been around longer than any of us others have, even Suzie. She kind of sucks at her job, but she still hasn't been fired yet. Not that I was complaining, she always gave Mark and I something to talk about whenever we were on cigarette breaks out back.

Next, there was David, the college dropout druggie. He was a nice guy, David, and a good-looking one at that. His hair was dyed black and stuck out at all angles. Nail polish constantly adorned his fingernails, which pissed the hell out of Suzie, even though he was just supposed to be washing dishes and was rarely seen by the customers. Except when he and Megan would get in to screaming matches about who was a better artist Eminem or Usher. Neither, in my opinion.

Then there was me. The hopelessly neurotic, hoping to get into college after her boyfriend woke up from his coma. Hoping to get married, have kids, the works, just what every girl dreamed, right? But again, I go back to hopeless.

I made the guy's latte as fast as my tired brain was letting my hands work. He scoffed when I put it down in front of him. Unfortunately, I was unable to get away before he began to speak. _Don't listen to what he's saying, Dylan. Don't you fucking lis – _"It took you long enough. You know," he said pointing a short, stubbed finger at me, "You kids should be able to work as fast as possible. All yous are young. God gave you this job, now you should be able to do it right, or not do it at all." I saw him take a sip and he cringed. Oh Christ.

_Keep your cool. Don't give in. Just completely block out whatever the hell he's saying…_

_That's easy for you to say, you're just my conscience.  
_

_Come on, Dylan, you've been confronted with worse shit than this. _

_Lay off me. I'm running on 2 hours of sleep here._

_Oh that's right, I forgot we were feeling sorry for ourself today…_

_Oh, go shoot yourself._

"—You should be thankful that you're even allowed to do this job. Most of you here are just as incompetent as the hobo across the fuckin' street." Thankfully, Suzie came to my rescue. Or so one would think.

"Sir, is there a problem here?" she asked looking at me, and then the blob, tucked in the booth. I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. Even if there was a REAL problem Suzie only goes by one rule: The customer is always right.

"You bet there's a problem," the giant-sized amoeba stated, pointing at me for the second time that night. "I asked her for a latte and you know what she gave me?" He looked around the entire restaurant, as though he expected someone to answer. "She gave me fuckin' decaf! DECAF!" Oooh, so that was why he was all mad and shit. "I am with the police force—" I snorted inwardly at that. Like that position made any difference in this fucking town. "And that kind of mistake could get someone shot!"

I rubbed the bridge of my nose with index finger and thumb. I could tell already that this was going to be a long night. My headache was still burdening me, and I had only been at work for 20 minutes. Welcome to my fucking life.

_**A/N: I hope you all liked the narrator. I'm not too sure about her, but you tell me. I'm ALSO not sure about the title of the fic, I have the feeling that it gives the feeling of sexual undertones… But maybe I'm just thinking that because I'm a 16 year old girl with the mentality of a child. But really who doesn't giggle to themselves when you hear them offer people "warm nuts" on an airplane? Be honest now But let me know what you think and PLEASE REVIEW!**_


	2. A Surreal Encounter

**Chapter Two: A Surreal Encounter**

I was sitting on the ledge of the open window of the hospital again, cigarette in hand and just looking out at the sky, which had been permanently grey for the past 3 months. I wasn't worried that someone was going to come in and catch me doing an act that could potentially get me fined a good sum of money, but I knew this hospital well enough to know that the nurses were off handing out lunches to all the other patients who were actually able to eat solid food. Then they would go off and eat lunches of their own. I looked over at the crumpled up sheet of wrapping paper from Burger King, my own lunch, which I had eaten an hour ago. I set this time aside for my other dependency.

Looking back out the window, I wondered how many years I would have to be here till all this waiting got too much. How many years would I have to come here every single day before I stopped feeling guilty? Not that I had anything to feel particularly guilty about. But I couldn't help but wonder what he would want me to do. I knew what he would _say_ he'd want me to do. He was unselfish like that. Always had been. I missed his smile, his laugh, his voice, the way he said my name whenever he was pretending to be mad. The memories made me smile, an act, which I had been unable to sincerely do lately.

To put it simply, Michael was a college professor, although, he was so much more than that. Michael was a saint. Michael was a hero. Michael was my knight in shining armor.

I frowned, stubbing out the cigarette and then tossing it out of the window. It bothered me that I could only think about him in the past tense. I didn't want to. He certainly wasn't dead. No, he was a fighter. Among many other things he was a fighter. Still, the past seemed like the correct tense to use.

It also bothered me that no one had been in this unit for quite some time. I had met some real interesting people here; people recovering from gunshot wounds, stab wounds, allergic reactions, overdoses… The list went on and on and on. I knew because I kept a journal over the past year of all the patients that were coming in and out of the unit. They were usually nice, a lot of them were bitter, but then, most people who have suffered are. I'd learned that from my own experiences.

I reached into my pocket for my pack of Marlboro Lights, but hesitated before opening the box when I heard voices shouting in the corridor outside. I'd heard frantic voices like that before. Maybe I was being brought someone to talk to. Not that it really made a difference in this place. After a week or two they would be gone and I would be stuck in the same position I was when I started. Most likely someone suffering from a gunshot wound. Possibly stab wound, but at this point in time it was too difficult to tell. With that amount of frantic voices it could have been either. I heard the voices approaching, faster now and I heard the gurney wheels squeaking as they rolled faster down the hall. Shoving the pack back into my pocket I jumped up. They were coming in here.

I quickly tried to push the smell of smoke out of the room and slammed the window shut. I jumped when the door behind me was thrown open and a group of about 5 doctors and nurses wheeled in. On the gurney was a kid, possibly my age, with a bloody mess on his shoulder. He was shaking uncontrollably and I could tell that he didn't have long left. Unless they acted now he didn't have a chance. It was always weird to think that at one minute someone was there and then the next… God was fucked up that way. Not that I believed in God. Not after everything I'd seen.

One of the nurses attached the kid up to a heart monitor, which started beeping right away at an unsteady rate. There was more shouting from all directions and I felt like I was watching an episode of ER. And no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't keep my eyes off the screen.

**XXXXXXXX**

Broken florescence lit the cafeteria of Henry Ford Hospital. Not very well, mind you. If I was a photosensitive epileptic I'm sure I would be dead by now. Thankfully, I wasn't. I was just your ordinary, everyday scar-tissue-in-the-brain epileptic. I had left the unit when the nurses and doctors started shouting the guy's name. I tried with all my power not to hear them. I didn't want to know his name if he died. That way, he would just remain a faceless, nameless memory in my brain. No strings attached, if you will.

I looked down at the cup of coffee in between my hands. I wasn't drinking it. I'd wasted 2 dollars on a cup of coffee I wasn't going to drink. I just needed the smell to take my mind off the room upstairs and all the chaos going on in and around it.

I'd been waiting about an hour and a half when I saw one of the doctors from upstairs getting in line for lunch. It amazed me that he was still able to eat even after seeing all that gore. I shook the thoughts from my head. It didn't matter now; the kid was either dead or alive, meaning that I was free to go back.

After throwing my coffee in the garbage, I got in the elevator to take me back upstairs. The door shut in front of me and I leaned my head back on the silver wall behind me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I wondered how my appearance was today. Not that it really mattered, I had a boyfriend who loved me and when he wakes up and sees that I stuck by him after all this time, the least he could do is marry me, buy a house – a real house – with me, have kids with me, grow old with me…

The doors opened and I stepped back onto the linoleum-covered hallway. I knew every scuffmark on that floor, every stain, almost every footprint that covered the floor surrounding me had come across me.

Quietly, I slowly opened the door to my unit of the hospital, and sighed a breath of relief. The kid was asleep in the bed across from Michael's. He was alive. In mediocre condition, but alive all the same. I'd seen this kind of thing before. They get shot, are revived, put on as many drugs and medication as possible and then wake up a few hours later, unsure of what the hell had happened.

Being as quite as my clumsy feet would let me, I walked across the room back to the window and opened it. Looking around, I took out my cigarettes for about the tenth time that day and lit one up. I sat down on the windowsill, the loneliness setting in, as it usually did at this time of day. It made me wish that one of them would wake up. He was cute from what I could tell. His hair was dirty blond and stuck up at all angles. His face was pale, which was understandable, considering that he had just been shot. He was skinny, I think, but hospital blankets covered up his body, but he definitely wasn't fat. Tattoos adorned the lower muscle of both his arms. I coughed gently, seeing if he would stir. He didn't.

A decent conversation wasn't too much to ask was it? I looked up at the sky to see a bunch of birds flying above. I flicked the cigarette in my hand, pensively. I'd spent Thanksgiving alone a few days ago. Chinese food did always scream pilgrims and Indians to me. Christmas probably wouldn't be any different. My friends had gone off to college and I could hardly call my co-workers friends. My social life and my work life were kept at opposite ends of the spectrum, never next to each other. I was fine with being alone for the holidays, however. I hadn't exactly known anything different. But still, a family would be nice. I wasn't saying that a family wouldn't be a blessing.

"Hey."

I jumped up and looked around the room to see where the deep voice was coming from. My eyes fell on the pale face of the kid lying in the bed across from Michael. Desperately, I tried to slow down the rate of my breathing. He smiled, although it looked like he was trying not to. It also looked as though he was in pain. I looked around, not sure what I could possibly say.

"Hi."

_Oh great work, Dylan, excellent conversation starter. I couldn't have done better myself._

_Oh, shut up. What the hell am I supposed to say? The guy's probably so drugged up he doesn't even know where the fuck he is._

There was a silence. It was so silent that I could hear his strained breathing and the heart monitor was louder than it seemed to be a minute ago.

"Can I bum one?" he said, gesturing to the pack of cigarettes in my hand as best he could. I looked down at the lit one in my hand, then back up. He was joking, right?

I smiled, weakly, humoring him. "Aren't you supposed to be in critical condition?" He had to be kidding.

"Is there a point to that statement?" he asked, chuckling, and a smile – a weak one like mine, although it was more pained – spread across his lips. It was a nice smile and I was sure that girls in high school would have probably died had a smile like that been sent their way. In pain or not, it was beautiful.

I shrugged, looking at him. "You're havin' a laugh, right?" I asked him, slowly approaching his bed.

He held up his hands, his palms facing me, defensively. "Hey, I'm just trying to get a cigarette here." Another smile played at his lips and I could tell he was trying not to laugh.

I looked around, running a hand through my hair trying to decide if I was high or drunk or something – ANTHING – that would give me a reason for this conversation not making any sense whatsoever and being completely and utterly surreal. I laughed to myself, trying to hide the fact that I was getting stressed. "With the amount of meds your on you will most likely **die** as soon as you inhale."

He laughed loudly, no longer hiding his amusement. "Believe it or not, that is a risk I am willing to take."

I scoffed and looked at him with my eyes wide, "Well, _I'm _not, okay? I'm not going to jail for just giving you a cigarette and watching as you keel over in front of me." I gestured to the floor next to the bed.

"Well, that's sweet of you to be worried about my well being…" I scoffed at that, "But that is a risk… I'm willing to take." He was so obviously brain damage. "Why are you looking at me like I'm brain damaged?" He chuckled at the sight of my face. Great, just great.

"Because you're asking me to do something, which is actually illegal in the eyes of this… Prison. An act, which could potentially put me in an actual prison or fined money I just don't have, _just _so you can feed your own unhealthy habit. WE'VE ONLY JUST MET EACH OTHER!" I knew I was shouting (well, whispering harshly), but I was tired and I had my migraine again. The kid looked unfazed, however. In fact this made him laugh harder.

He managed to choke out a few words in between his laughter: "Oh come on, it's not like I'm asking you to show me your breasts."

I was getting more irritated by the second. "Oh, for God's sake, I don't care what you say, I am **not **going to give you a cigarette!" And with that, I left his bedside and angrily pulled the surrounding curtain closed. I stormed over to the still open window.

It was silent for a second before I heard, "So I guess that's a no to showing me your breasts, too?"

"Go to hell," I shouted.

**XXXXXXXXXX**

BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG

That sound had been going on for what felt like 12 hours. In reality, it had been going on for about 40 minutes and I was on my 10th cigarette of the hour. The racket, of course was coming from behind the grey colored curtain on the other side of the room. He'd been knocking on something metal using God knows what. Probably his thick skull. My head was about to explode and I was near my breaking point.

After stubbing out the stick in my hand, I abruptly stood up and strode over to the curtain, ripping it back to reveal **HIM** knocking on his metal bedpan with a fucking pencil. He stopped and smiled when he saw the look on my face.

I breathed heavily before speaking to keep myself from shouting. "If I give you a motherfucking cigarette will you **SHUT THE HELL UP**!"

He grinned, "Gladly."

There was a pause while I was trying to one out of its cardboard case.

"Not worried for my welfare anymore?" He asked, playfully.

"Truthfully? No."

I shoved the cigarette and lighter into his hand and started to walk away before his voice stopped me.

"Mind lighting it for me? I have no feeling in my fingertips." I could tell he was smiling cockily at me behind my back.

I sighed and spun back around and took the damn thing from him and lit it. "Here, take it." I shoved it back into his hand, while he was staring out the window at the setting sun. I opened the window for him before returning to my sill.

"I'm Jack, by the way," I heard him say, as though it were an after thought.

"Of course you are," I said, keeping my eyes on the sunset, trying my very hardest not to look over at the bed 17 feet away from me

XXXXXXXX 

I was sitting on the window's edge; my head resting on my knees and my arms were wrapped tightly around my legs. I was looking at my reflection in the glass. Again, my eyes were sunken, no surprise there. My hair was starting to look stringy, no surprise there either. I had been trying, unsuccessfully, to get some sleep before I had to leave again.

It had been strangely quite in the unit. Well, minus the two heart monitors beeping at a steady metronome. After an hour or so, I snuck a glance over at Jack's bed, you know, just to see if he was actually breathing or anything, but I quickly looked back when I saw he was staring in my direction.

"I saw that," he said, itching his chin. I could tell he was bored, but I certainly was _not _going to provide him with entertainment. Although, I had the horrible feeling that I didn't really have a choice.

I rested my chin on my boney knees. " You saw what?" I said, more harshly than I had intended.

He shook his head smiling, as though I had said something ridiculous. "So," I could already tell he was going to be changing the subject before he even spoke. "When do I get to learn _your _name?"

I rolled my eyes, incredulously, letting my head loll back onto their boney pillow. "What difference does it make now?" I asked, not really sure where all this attitude was coming, besides the obvious: my head and exhaustion. But really, I had just met barely met this guy and I was already acting like a bitch towards him.

_Well, he **did** ask to see your breasts before he even knew your name…_

_True that._

_And you would have shown him, had your boyfriend not been lying in the next bed…_

_That's… ridiculous._

_Hey, I'm just speaking the truth here._

_Yeah, and your truth is made up of complete shit._

_And who knows you better than anyone else?_

_That's private._

"Not a lot," I heard him reply. "Just trying to put a name to a face. Since, you know, we're gonna be stuck here alone together, and I'm assuming that he's not gonna be waking up any time soon. Plus, you know my name and it's only fair."

"That doesn't even begin to be the same thing," I said, raising my head and my voice. "I didn't even _ask_ for _your_ name." Why the hell was I letting this guy get to me so much? And how was he able to remain unfazed? I went back to looking into the darkness outside.

He sighed in (mock) defeat. "Alright fine, you don't have to tell me your name."

_Dammit. He knew how to get to me and was now using reverse psychology on me. Well, I am not going to give in. I absolutely, cannot, give—_

"Dylan," I said, softly, but loud enough for him to hear.

"Pretty name," he said as softly I had spoken, and I swore that I could here the smile in his voice, but when I looked up to see if I was just imagining it, Jack was fast asleep.

I turned back to the window and closed my eyes, and for the first time since I had started coming to the hospital, I was actually able to get to sleep. For a little while anyway.

_**A/N: Was that to your liking? Reviews, please! I realize that Jack is a little OOC and I'm trying my very hardest to actually get into the character. I hope you understand.**_


	3. Meet the Brothers

**A/N: O M G, Thank you so much to all who have read the very basis of this pathetic attempt of a story. ESPECIALLY to my reviewers:**

**Justcantseethelight – ah, my first reviewer. You're my favorite already. Lol. Thank you so much for the kind words and I hope you come back soon.**

NeNa666 – Thank you! Glad you're enjoying and anticipating. : D Review again soon!

**Appleicious – I'm so happy you likes it. I really loved writing the cigarette scene. It's actually a dream of mine for Jack to bum a cigarette off me. Well, you know if I was a neurotic chain smoker, but you get the idea… lol. Can't wait to hear more from you. PS I love your pen name**

**Unread-Letters – Thanks a lot, you're review meant a lot, actually. I wasn't sure if my writing style was too… I don't know. But after reading your review you put butterflies in my stomach. Not in a creepy way, but just in a warm and fuzzy way. Hope to hear from you again soon!**

**TEENage-TrAgedY – Thank you! Hope you enjoy this chapter!**

**Electricxrain – Your review made me laugh. I liked you instantly. I'm trying to update as soon as I possibly can so that you don't need to die. By the way, I also love your story. Please write more soon. Seriously, I am actually in love with it. You have a lot of talent there. **

**EyesPaintedBlack – Thank you! I hope that this is also to your liking!**

**I'm desperately trying to update as soon as I possibly can and seriously, if I had it my way, I'd be updating everyday. HOWEVER, my stupid, dumb excuse for a school has just completely lost ALL of its internet access. Something about the satellite company going bankrupt and it's all very messy… Seriously, there have been riots. It actually kind of pisses everyone off because all the teachers are able to get on. Ha, like _they _need to use the internet more than we do. That makes me chuckle. End rant.**

**And now… On with the show… xoxoxox**

**----------------------------------------**

**Chapter 3: Meet the Brothers**

I woke up about 3 or 4 hours later in the same position I was when I fell asleep. The room was dark, which meant that it was about 9 or later because the nurses turn the lights off around 8:30. I didn't need to look at my watch to tell me that I was already late for work. I knew this hospital well. Jack and Michael's heart monitors were still beeping an alternative beat. That was always a good sign. Even if there was a pain in the ass in the other bed…

Hopping off the window and I felt around for the chair next to Michael's bed. Finding it, I flopped down into it, figuring that there wasn't much point in going to work now. Anyway, I had a feeling that Suzie was going to fire me after the disturbance that was last night. It wouldn't have surprised me, she's been looking for an excuse to fire me or at least give me an excuse to quit ever since she started working there. Not that working at the Sunnyside Diner wasn't a joy… Note the sarcasm.

My thoughts were interrupted when I heard shouts and footsteps coming from the hallway outside. The voices were indecipherable until I heard the familiar voice of 'Debbie,' the nurse who I had encountered on many separate occasions.

"I'm sorry, sir, but visiting hours are over." She sounded stressed.

I couldn't see why. Debbie had been encountered with patients' families before and was able to handle them just fine.

"Hey, you can't go in there!" The door was slammed open with a loud bang and the lights were flicked and I understood why Debbie was so stressed.

I craned my neck around, rather painfully, to see who was at the door. I was met with 3 men, all around the same age, standing in the doorway of the hospital bedroom. The tallest of the three was black and looked almost worried. The other black one, although he was probably in his late twenties, early thirties, looked like the all-American family man. I could tell by the look of concern and sympathy he had in his eyes that he was hardly trying to suppress. The last of the three was white; his hair was slicked back, so that it looked almost wet. Anger was spread over his face, but I could tell that there was a hint of worry in his eyes. Maybe even more than a hint. It looked as though he'd been crying.

So many questions were running through my mind, as I tried to figure out what sort of relation these people were to Jack. They definitely didn't look like the kind of people I would have imagined him interacting with. In fact, they were an odd bunch all together.

The white one spoke first. "Wakey, wakey, Jackie, rise and shine." He hastily walked over to where Jack lay, clapping his hands together, trying to get his attention. The other two men followed.

"Where the hell have you been?" asked an irritated Jack, groggily, trying to readjust himself on the bed, pushing the tray of food in front of him forward. When had he eaten?

"Where have _we_ been?" the white one shouted, concerned anger was dripping from his words. "Where the hell have _we_ been? We've been trying to convince these fucking morons that we're your family, dipshit." Jack started to speak, but he was cut off. "And what the fuck have you been doing?" He picked up the empty pudding container that was on the tray in front of him. "Eating fucking pudding," he muttered to the two guys behind him, shaking his head.

"How long have you been waiting?" Jack asked, almost casually, looking up at the men. I saw that he was trying to hide the fact that he was in pain.

"Long enough," said the family man, impatiently. "Bobby finally used the only way of reasoning he knows." He jabbed a finger at the white one, as the tall one pulled up a chair next to Jack's bed and sat down.

"So, how you feeling, Jackie?" he asked. I couldn't help but laugh internally at that question. The kid had just been shot, how did they expect him to feel? Even if he would never admit it out loud. Ugh, men.

Jack shifted awkwardly, as though he was trying to decide how to answer the simple question. I wanted to answer it for him, just to break the silence but he spoke up. "Not too bad," he shrugged. It was a lie and I could tell that the others knew it too by the sympathetic looks they were trying to hide. "They still say I have to stay for a few more days, though, possibly a week and a half." Nobody answered for a while.

Looking up from the hair I had been twirling around my finger, I realized that the whole room (sans Michael, of course) was looking in my direction. I shifted in my seat uncomfortably, but I kept their gazes.

Finally, 'Bobby' spoke. "Who're you?" The question was directed at me, but Jack answered. Figures…

"That's Dylan," Jack said, a sly smile playing on his lips. I death glared him. Just because he had a nice smile didn't mean that I was going to forget about earlier. Although, it was kind of getting through to me.

Bobby turned back to him. "What's she doin' here?" _Great, now I'm incapable of speaking. That's twice today he's made me feel like an idiot._

"Why don't you ask her," Jack replied, gesturing a hand towards me. He had the 'duh' tone of voice that most the girls in my old high school used, before receiving a look from Bobby and the other two.

The family man stood up before walking over to where I was sitting, giving me time to stand up and straighten out my loose fitting clothes. He had a beautiful smile. Actually, it was dazzling. It was a genuine smile to boot, the kind of smile you definitely don't seen in the Sunnyside Diner or in this hospital. Never had I seen so many white teeth on one person. His eyes smiled with him too.

He stuck out his hand towards me as he introduced himself as well as the other two, "Hey, Dylan, we're the Mercers brothers. I'm Angel, that's Jeremiah and Bobby," he gestured behind him to the other two. "And I take it you already met Jack," he said smiling and turning back to me. I took his hand and shook it, trying my best to smile.

"Cracker Jack," Bobby spoke up, before getting a slap on the stomach from Jack.

"Cut it out, man," Jack said callously, trying his best to twist around in his bed and face Bobby, sending a glare in his direction. The playful banter continued in the background, when Jeremiah came over. I looked at him confused.

I crossed my arms. "So, what are you guys, like a gang?" I asked, finally deciding that that was the best and only way to ask. I mean, they certainly didn't look like actual brothers, not even their facial features were remotely similar. Gang was the first thing that came to my mind. Although, if they _were_ a gang, they were probably the oddest gang I'd ever seen in this part of Detroit, and having grown up here, I'd seen **a lot** of gangs.

Jeremiah and Angel just smiled at each other as though they'd heard the question many-a-time before. Jeremiah looked back at me, still smiling, "No, we're actually brothers. Adopted brothers, but we're as close as brothers get."

I nodded. Then it dawned on me: Mercer. "Your mother was Evelyn Mercer." I spoke without thinking.

I had known Evelyn Mercer, but then, that wasn't saying much, as there wasn't a soul in our area of Detroit who hadn't encountered Evelyn Mercer on the odd occasion. I knew that she took in foster kids and tried to mold them into "good citizens," while trying to find good homes for them. I'd sit with her whenever she came and ate at the diner most Saturday mornings as she talk about just about everything; her experiences with some of the kids she'd taken in, her days at Woodstock… But mostly she'd talk about her 4 sons. I could tell that she missed them dearly whenever they were away from her, but it always put a smile on her face to talk about them. "_Dylan, when you have children of your own – and don't you dare give me that look, you** will** have children – you will understand what this life is truly about. Now, go get yourself a cup of coffee and sit with me. Tell me about this fella of yours…" _

I was brought back to the present when I realized the lack of banter in the room. Bobby and Jack were looking in my direction as well as Angel and Jeremiah.

Finally, I spoke up, shifting my eyes to the ground, "I'm sorry about what happened." My voice was barely a whisper and I could tell that it was a subject that I shouldn't have touched upon both for my sake as well as theirs. There was a lump in my throat: I still hadn't forgiven myself for not going to the funeral.

Jeremiah put a soothing hand on my shoulder. I looked at him and he nodded, knowingly and I smiled. Evelyn had told me countless stories about her grandchildren, Amelia and Daniela, Jerry's children. I _knew_ he looked like a family man.

Jack coughed, bring my attention back to him. He looked up at his older brother and smiled weakly, "So, are you guys gonna weep by my bedside or what?" I could tell he was trying to break the melancholy in the room by the way his voice cracked. He sounded tired but I knew he wanted to be with his brothers. Evelyn had always said how Jack looked up to his older brothers and missed them almost as much as she did when they started to leave home.

Angel and Bobby seemed to snap back to reality. Bobby nodded, putting a hand on Jack's shoulder, gripping it gently in the softest and brotherly way possible. The 3 older brothers looked at each other guiltily. "Sorry, Jackie, we got some business to attend to."

Jack looked disheartened. "What? But you only just got here," he looked around at all of his brothers, trying to make them see sense. I was as confused as he was. What could possibly be more important than staying with their brother who'd just been shot and was in critical condition?

Angel stepped up, "Sorry, Jack, but you know what's been goin' on." I turned and walked over to where Michael lay, figuring that this was probably something I shouldn't be listening in on. Or at least show that I was listening.

"Don't forget there's still someone we have to take care of…" Bobby said, keeping in mind that I was still in the room.

Jack sighed, although he was trying to hold it in, "Yeah, yeah, okay, you go do what you gotta do and then come back here so I know you're still alive." He sounded exasperated. And worried, but the brothers took no notice.

Jerry walked over and gently patted Jack's leg. "You'll be fine, Jackie," he said before walking over to the door, placing his hand on the handle.

Angel, who looked more reluctant to leave his brother, slowly approached the bed. "See ya later, Jack," he said gripping Jack's good shoulder gently.

"Don't look so worried, ya little fairy," Bobby said, ruffling his hair. "We're takin' care of everything, Jackie." He straightened up, "Now get your beauty sleep, kid." And just like that they were gone, leaving Jack in silence. I continued to fiddle with Michael's hand, being careful not to look Jack's way I had a feeling that he wanted to be alone.

My mind was brought back to Evelyn and everything she'd done for her sons and the kids she'd taken in over the years. All that she'd done for Michael and me during this past year was something I could never have repaid her for. Not even a fraction could be given back to her. The day I found out about her death I cried uncontrollably on my break. And then again when I was visiting in the hospital. Later, when I went home, in the shower. I hadn't cried that much since last year. Actually, I don't think I'd ever cried so much in my life.

I felt a warm drop running down my cheek. Fuck. I was crying again.

"So, who's the guy?" I jumped at the sound of Jack's voice. I'd completely forgotten that he was there.

I looked over in Jack's direction. He was watching me, expectantly. He strained his neck to look over at the pale face of the patient across from him.

I brushed the hair out of my face, trying to keep more tears from falling, and looked back down at Michael's ashen face. I smiled. "My boyfriend, Michael," I said, turning my face up to look at the man across from me.

"Mike?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood.

I shot a glare at him, although it was playful one, "_No. _Michael. I could never call him Mike."

Silence.

"What happened to him?" he asked, almost inaudibly. I dropped my head down again, gripping the bars for support. It still made me dizzy to talk about it. Even to think about it made my stomach turn. It had been a while since I'd talked about it with anyone, even Evelyn.

Taking a deep breath I spoke, "We were in a car accident about a year ago." I paused, unsure of my own self-control to keep myself from crying. "I was the lucky one. I got out of it with only scar tissue and a dose of epilepsy. Michael, on the other hand…" I looped my fingers through his like I'd done little more than a day ago. "He's been in a coma ever since." It sounded so weird to say it out loud. It was weird and kind of creepy but telling her son made it feel like I was talking to her again. Even if he was as far from being saint as you could possibly get. The lump that I'd been trying to keep down in my throat was slowly returning and the harder I tried to resist, the harder it got to keep it down inside of me.

"Is he ever gonna wake up?" Jack asked from his bed on the other side of the room.

I shook my head, still trying to rid myself of the need to cry. "I don't know." I dropped his hand before turning to look at Jack. "And it wouldn't matter if he did now, the doctors say that he wouldn't be the same as he was before all this happened."

"So why are you still waiting?"

I paused before answering. It was a question I'd been asked many times before. So many times that I'd forgotten how to answer it, even though I knew that I had an answer not too long ago. Finally, I spoke the words that I had thought but had never dared to speak out loud. "Because I'm afraid if I don't then--" I paused so I could catch my breath. Why was I so breathless? "Then I might lose the little part of myself that's still alive. You know?" My voice was croaky and unfamiliar to me. He didn't answer me. I looked over at Jack and smiled weakly. He looked back at me, not with sympathy. He looked at me as though I was uneducated in the world. But he didn't understand. No one could possibly understand.

We were silent for the rest of my time there and I left after Jack had fallen asleep. Goodbyes were never my forte.

XXXXXXX 

"I'm gonna have to let you go."

_Okay. I can accept that._

_No way, you're not goin' down **that** easily. _

"I'm sorry what?"

I was standing in front of Suzie's desk in full diner attire, receiving the news. Talk about going down in style… She was continually shaking her head, her black hair rippling with every movement.

"Listen, Dylan," she said, leaning forward onto the wood and paper mess of the desk. "I know you've had a hard time this year with all that's gone on with Michael and—"

I held up my hand to silence her. "Can you just get the to the fucking point, Suzie?"

She pointed a stubby finger at me, "See, that's what I'm talking about: the attitude, the lateness. The not showing up at all?" She shrugged, leaning back in her seat, "I just don't see it working out."

I couldn't even keep myself from looking angry, even though I'd known that this day was coming for sometime now, even before the accident, but really, I'd been trying real hard to get back into the swing of things. Well, you know, hard-ish. My eyes were burning. I was not going to cry again, I just wasn't.

"What am I supposed to do?" Damn, I let my voice crack.

"That's not really my problem anymore, Dylan." Despite the fact that Suzie had always had that, 'tough luck' attitude, I couldn't believe my ears. She had picked up her pen and began doing her paper work again. At that moment I hated everything about her. The way her hair fell, the way she had her glasses resting on just the tip of her nose, the way she breathed through her mouth—

She was looking up at me again. "I'm sorry, Dylan."

Sorry?

She was sorry?

I was flat out broke and _she_ was sorry. I was homeless. I had nowhere to go. Who was going to hire _me_? I had no qualifications, my only talent required connections with people in high places, something that was difficult to find in Detroit. I had no one. I had nothing. No job, no money. I wasn't going to have a home for much longer.

I looked at the window at the darkness and neon lights pouring in. I could just see my reflection staring back at me. Mascara was running down my cheek in dark black streams, my face occasionally glowing hot pink from the lights across the street. Behind my reflection I could see snow falling, lightly dusting the streets of Detroit. I was tired. Too tired. What was there left for me to do?

I looked back at Suzie and nodded before walking out. I felt like I had brain freeze.

I had an idea. It wasn't the most constructive idea but it would pay. A lot. Even if the job itself would kill me.

XXXXXX 

The room was dark when I opened that hospital door again, sticking my head inside. I was still in my uniform so I guess it was better that it was pitch black. However, as soon as I stepped one foot onto that linoleum floor a light in the corner switched on, revealing Jack, his hair sticking out at all possible angles.

He looked me up and down, nothing short of a smirk adorning his face, "Nice outfit," he said, readjusting his shoulder after the stretch to the lamp switch.

"Yeah, well," I said, being careful not to look him in the eyes as I walked across the room to Michael's bed, again taking his hand.

I knew that Jack was trying to get me to look at him. "You left so suddenly this afternoon, I didn't get to say goodbye." I still refused to even glance in his direction.

"Yeah, well some of us have a job. You know work, etcetera." He seemed to have got the message and I gripped tighter onto Michael's hand and kneeled down next to him, putting my head near his and whispered low enough for only him to hear, even if he probably wouldn't be able to hear me at all. "I won't be able to visit you properly for awhile, honey. Please forgive me for what I'm doing." I stroked his hair gently before replacing his hand back on his side. I rose and turned on my heals, keeping my eyes to the floor before walking quickly out.

"See you tomorrow, Dylan," I heard Jack say from his corner of the room.

It made me pause before opening the door. I didn't want to admit to myself – certainly never admit to him – that I was going to miss his company. Even after the short period of time we'd spent with each other, I'd taken a liking to the kid and it made me sad that I was probably never going to see him again. But a girls gotta do…

"Bye, Jackie," I said, as I opened the door and let it close behind me as I walked the long walk down the hall, through the elevator door and out of the hospital.

XXXXXXX 

**A/N: Okay, I haven't proof read the last 2 sections of this chapter because it's late and I'm tired. If there are any mistakes I'm so sorry! Please reviewwwwww! xoxxoxo**


	4. That Smell

A/N: ARGH! You have no idea how frustrating it's been having written all this and not being able to post it or check my reviews or anything. Actually, it's become an addiction. Seriously I make my friend who goes home every night check them for me and from what she tells me, you guys are incredible and I'm trying to make this chapter extra long just in case I won't be able to post again for awhile. BUT the internet should be fixed by the end of half term. Damn those computer guys… Today I walked by their little house, a computer hut, if you will and there was a sign on it that said: "SORRY, but the IT Helpdesk has been closed due to shortage of staff." Okay, first of all: SHORTAGE OF STAFF? WTF? There are only two computer staffs in this whole school. Basically, the sign meant that one of them was sick and the other one was being a lazy asshole. Wow, is the new livejournal…. Holy shit, and also, I just watch Friday Night Lights and, O H M Y G O D that is the best fucking movie. It made my cry. Everyone should go rent it. Actually, you know what, everyone should go buy it. Seriously, splurge, you won't regret it, I promise. 

I'm writing this in my music lesson. Hehe, my teacher makes me chuckle. Here is a typical music lesson at my school:

**Mr. Baggs: Well, Yette, you'll just have to ask Mr. Raby about it, although I can't guarantee that he'll say yes.**

**Yette: Whatever, I'm used to it.**

**Mr. Baggs: (sympathetically) Men turning you down?**

**Yette: (sadly) Yes…**

**Mr. Baggs: So am I…**

**Me: What, men turning you down?**

**Mr. Baggs: (chuckling to himself) Well, obviously not _men._**

**Pause**

**Me: So, I take it that the men always say yes?**

**Another pause**

**Mr. Baggs: Right then, let's get back to music.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except those you don't recognize. I ALSO do not own the two songs that this chapter contains. They are the property of AC/DC and Lynyrd Skynyrd. **

Now for my replies to my lovely band of reviewers… 

Dragon tears1—I'm tryin', I'm tryin'. Thanks for reviewing. The answer to your question is contained in this chapter… Hope to hear from you again soon!

**GiggaLoop – Don't worry! She'll be happy soon enough… I mean, Jack's in her life, what sane person would not be happy about that! LOL. Thanks for reviewing!**

**Applelicious – Thanks so much for reviewing again. I always think that I put too MUCH description in my writings, so thank you for the compliment!**

**Electricxrain – LMAO. And again I'm put under pressure to update because someone is threatening to die. Damn it, stop doing that! YAY! I'm on your favorites! You're definitely going on mine as well. Congratulations, you're the first on my favorites list! And update that story or else _I_ will die. 333**

**Iluvgarretthedlund – Dammit, and I thought I was being crafty, but you caught me. By the way, I love Garrett, too. Almost too much, actually. Thanks for the review! Come back soon!**

**Nena666 – OH NO! I didn't mean to make you cry! I am desperately trying to make it happier, and believe me, I've mapped this story out (and I'm already planning a sequel), and there are a lot of happy scenes so stay hopeful, and keep reviewing!**

**Halia – YOU'RE the cumball, cumball. Thanks for reviewing anyway. Now all you have to do is go to spamland and actually WATCH THE MOFOING MOVIE! 333 I LOVE YOU AND MISS YOU TO PIECES!**

**Now back to the show….**

Chapter 4: That Smell 

I looked like shit. I wasn't gonna lie. My face felt heavy with the amount of make up and bronzer that adorned my pale face. "Pale don't sell," Budd always said whenever I walked into this place make upless. It was never a good thing when your face felt like it weighed more than the clothing on your body. It was never a good thing when the make up on your face actually _was _heavier than your clothing. But then again, it was never a good thing when you didn't have enough money to pay the rent, so go figure.

I started to coat my lips in the color that I used to adore but had come to despise in the past few weeks. Despite where I was working, I didn't really have room to complain. This place offered free housing (if you could call it that) and the tips weren't bad either. But I still couldn't help feeling constantly dirty, even _after_ the long showers I'd take, trying to scrub my own self out of this skin. My skin. The skin that I'd began to hate and men in suits had come to yearn for.

I tried to visit Michael as much as I possibly could, even though it almost pained me to go in there after the long nights. He'd still shown no true signs of a for sure recovery. He would have understood, right? He _will_ understand. And when he wakes up everything will go back to the way it was. Back to that dependency that I didn't know I needed until it was gone. Both the physical and the mental dependency that I'd grown to miss so much that it hurt. But, it had been 2 weeks since I went and seen him. That was probably the longest time that I'd gone with out spending time with him.

I hadn't seen Jack since I said goodbye to him just under a month ago. The next time I was at the hospital one of the nurses told me that he'd been moved up to the recovery unit and was now in therapy. I didn't have the courage to visit him, and it was difficult for me to tell why. Probably because I knew that it was hard for anyone to stay alone in the hospital day after day and going up after 2 weeks of not seeing him didn't seem fair. I above all people knew that. Maybe it was better that I hadn't seen him.

I saw the reflection of the door behind me open and a short, balding man popped his head in to look at me. I didn't bother stopping what I was doing, since this had all become routine in my life. It was weird to think about it, but this was _my_ life.

"You're on in ten, baby girl," Budd, the money-loving owner of _Spyder_, said to my reflection, before disappearing again.

All in all, Budd was a nice guy. He cared about his employees as though they were his own daughters. Sometimes he would beat off his own customers whenever they got too rowdy, which they so often did. In fact, my very first week of working here, he knocked a guy out for getting too "handsy" with me and from what the girls had told me, he'd done more than that before for the exact same offense. I didn't even know that they weren't allowed to get to handsy, but then again, I found I didn't know a lot of things.

The other girls were here for all different reasons whether it was trying to get the bills paid and putting food in their children's mouths. Some of the women had gotten lost on the way to college and were just trying to get by in this life. We didn't usually talk about things in detail. Then again, we didn't really talk that much at all about anything. However, chances were, if you were working at Spyder, you most likely didn't want to exist. At all. I certainly didn't, and I was no different than the rest of them, at least from what I or anyone else could tell.

I'd learnt to dance in high school, I was even head of Dance Club and I could find music in anything, which was what probably got me into the whole music side of the spectrum. Exotic dancing wasn't any different, really. But the dance was more of a sport than it was 5 years ago: the more skin you showed and the more sexy you looked, the more bills you find in your G-string. The thought of me doing it made me physically sick. But when you're in situations like these, you're able to find your own private paradise that you can escape to whenever you feel the bile rising in your throat.

A lot of the girls turned to heroin, but I was never good with needles. Alcohol seemed like the next best thing. Shots of tequila mostly. That way, I no longer had a conscience. I was no longer myself. I was no longer myself, anyway, but this made me forget about it. For a few moments, anyway.

I had five more minutes before I was back on that pole. Back on that stage. Back on the men that lord over the Detroit area. My hair was a perfect, blonde wig. Not that it mattered how blonde or how perfect it was. Those kinds of people don't care about anything as long as you have the body of a goddess and the ass of an Olympic runner. I was no goddess, and I certainly wasn't an athlete, but Budd said I had "a gift" and "a knack for bringing in the money." Those things didn't matter to me. Just as long as I was a phantom in this town and I didn't see anyone I knew, I was happy. Well, happyish.

Throwing down the lip liner I had in my hand, I got up, quickly inspecting myself in the mirror. I looked completely and utterly distasteful, which meant I was good to go. I'd lost weight since I started working here. Another one of the perks…

I stubbed out the cigarette I had in my hand on the tabletop before exiting the dressing room, I was met with Whitey, one of the four men that tended the bar at Spyder. He held a tray of three shot glasses. I didn't bother asking what they contained, and just downed them in 30 seconds flat.

"Whoo! You better slow down, girl," Whitey said, as I rearranged the glasses back on the tray for him. He knew about the epilepsy and that I shouldn't have been drinking as much as I was. But I think he understood my reasons. I shook out my joints, cracking my neck in the process. I didn't bother stretching anymore. Liquor did that for me any day. I was buzzed already.

I could hear the shouts and hoots of men on the other side of the curtain I was behind. Even though the music blared, it never drowned out the sound of the slime that came in here. I didn't know what the bouncers were thinking half the time.

Still jumping on my toes, I turned to Whitey who was still standing by, "What's the crowd like tonight, Whitey?"

The man chuckled to himself. "Like always," he said, smiling at me. "Slimy, rich bastards just trying to have a good time." I hated when he put it like that, it was almost as though they had an excuse for coming here and paying for lap dances, while they still wore their wedding rings. This wasn't reality. This was just a shit smelling cloud nine for the rich douche bags of Michigan "where all your fantasies and more come true."

A new song started, my cue to go out onto that "catwalk" and do the only thing that would put the food in my mouth and a roof over my head. I gave into the alcohol and the music, bending my limbs in every direction I could as men wolf-whistled and clapped their hands together, throwing dollar bills of all values and presidents at my feet. Hell, it was _almost_ like roses being thrown at me, if roses paid and were worth 10 and 20 dollars. Grabbing the pole, I spun around, letting the lights drown out all the dirt and grime that surrounded my life at that moment. All the dirt and grime that surrounded me every night.

_I'm going in to sin city_

_I'm gonna win in sin city_

_Where the lights are bright_

Do the town tonight I'm gonna win in sin city 

Hands came from all angles, trying to grasp my high-heeled ankles as they sidestepped past the wedding ringed fingers, out of their disgusting talons. They were mostly middle aged, but we sometimes got some young ones celebrating 21st birthdays and their ability to finally be able to fulfill their wild most fantasies. No matter what age, old or young, they all never ceased to sicken me.

Once the song finished offers were coming from all directions. I wouldn't accept. Not just yet, anyway. The night was still young and they paid more after a certain number of drinks had been downed. I bent down to pick up the bills that were lying at all corners of the stage. It was difficult since the heels of the plastic pink shoes were incredibly tall and unstable. I had been able to hide my clumsiness for this long but there was always the chance of a mistake, and mistakes were _not _tolerated in this place. "Mistakes don't sell," as Budd would say.

I looked up from the wad in my hand and on the floor, just for a second. But it was just enough time for me to catch sight of someone.

No, it can't possibly be him. 

What the hell was he doing here? I thought to myself, looking back down when I saw that he was looking at me. I quickened my pace and rose to my feet again, grabbing hold of the bar, steadying myself, as I tried to level my breathing rate.

_Just stay calm, you can get out of this._

_He probably doesn't even recognize me, right? I mean this wig could disguise Sadam, right?_

_Yeah, let's just hope he doesn't ask for a lap dance…_

_He wouldn't… Would he?_

_Please, he's a Mercer; you know what they say about those Mercers…_

_I was **this** close to forgetting about him._

_Liar._

_Oh, sweet Jesus._

I quickly disappeared behind the purple curtain and leaned against the painted white brick wall, closing my eyes as I tried to ease my dizzy head. He can't possibly have recognized me. We'd only met each other for those brief two or three days we'd spent together in that damn hospital. I went back into the changing room, making sure that my wig was on straight and my make up covered enough of my face. I desperately needed another drink. And a cigarette.

After grabbing a long black jacket to cover my attire, I reopened the door. Taking I deep breath before I stepped out from the "backstage" area of the club, discretely making my way over to the bar. Surveying my surroundings, I cautiously sat down on the bar stool, slapping my palm down on the counter top. My buzz from the three tequila shots earlier was still ringing in my ears.

"Whitey," I called out, trying my very best not to slur my words together. "You got any of those jello shooters left?"

Whitey laughed good-heartedly. "Sure, Dylan, what flavor?" he said, sliding the tray along so that all different flavored shots were right under my nose. Ha, like the flavor really mattered right now. I would drink gasoline and be completely fine with it.

Picking up the closest one to me, I drank it quickly, wincing as the vodka burned at my throat, despite the fruity taste that was hopelessly trying to cover up the taste of alcohol. I reached into the pocket of the black coat, pulling out the small paper box and lighter, as a group of men behind me whooped and cheered.

Just then someone sat down next to me; and I didn't need to turn in my seat to see who it was.

"Fancy meeting you here," Jack Mercer said, sliding his elbows onto the front of the bar. "Hey, can I get a beer?" he shouted to Danny, the other bar tender, slapping a silver-ringed hand down on the countertop before turning back to me. I still had my head turned so that the wig's false hair fell in front of my face. All I had to do was make him think that he'd made a mistake in placing my face. "I preferred your hair brown, you know," he said, smiling, as Danny placed his opened beer on the coaster in front of him.

I lit my cigarette as casually as I could. "You don't know what you're talking about, kid." I tried to make my voice as unrecognizable as possible.

He chuckled to himself while he lit a cigarette of his own between his lips, taking a long drag on it. "I mean, I _knew_ you didn't like your job and all. I'm glad to see you finally found your calling." He was trying to get to me. Again. I was pissed off, but all I could think about was how he was doing.

I didn't answer him. Instead, I took another jello shooter and poured it into my mouth, trying to drown out the sound of his voice.

"We missed you at the hospital for the past few weeks," he said as though he was talking about the weather or something petty like that. "I've been having cigarette withdrawal symptoms." There was a smile in his voice, almost like the first day we met, yet this smile was almost like he was trying to hide sadness behind it.

He coughed before taking a sip of his beer. "You looked good up there," he said, trying to make is voice stronger than it had been. "You never told me you could dance."

_I never told him? I never told him?_ I'd exchanged a minimum of a thousand words with the guy and he's say that I never told him something of absolutely no meaning whatsoever. Like we'd been friends forever.

Jack leaned in closer to me. "What are you doing, Dylan?" It was the first time I'd heard him say my name in a month and I was trying to hold back the shivers that were working their way up my spine. I took a drag on my cigarette, pretending to be unaffected by his words. Wait, who was pretending? This kid was nothing to me. "You're throwing your life away here."

"Gee, thanks dad, I'll take that into consideration when I'm starving and living in a box next to some charming little park," I snorted.

He paused before speaking, as though he was unsure about what he was about to say. "Evelyn would hate to see you here." Pause again. "Michael would hate to see you here—"

That 's what made me snap. "Look, you're not Evelyn _or _Michael. You're not even close to being _a thing_ like either of them. What makes you think that a single word _you_ have to say is going to make a difference in my life?" I was gripping tightly onto his arm with a red nail polished hand. I knew what I had said would hurt him, and had I been in a sober state of mind I probably wouldn't have said anything. Well, I would have at least put it in a nicer context. But he had the nerve to bring up Michael. In this place of all places.

_Whiskey bottles, and brand new cars _

_Oak tree you're in my way _

_There's too much coke and too much smoke _

_Look what's going on inside you _

_Ooooh that smell _

_Can't you smell that smell _

_Ooooh that smell _

_The smell of death surrounds you _

I was looking Jack in the eyes. We were so close that our faces were nearly touching and I could feel the warm breath from his nose. His face looked as though my words hadn't affected him, but his eyes said differently. We just sat there for god knows how long, neither one of us breaking eye contact.

_Angel of darkness is upon you _

_Stuck a needle in your arm _

_So take another toke, have a blow for your nose _

_One more drink fool, will drown you _

_Ooooh that smell _

_Can't you smell that smell _

_Ooooh that smell _

_The smell of death surrounds you_

"Why are you here?" I finally had the courage to ask, my voice breaking as I tried to hold back tears as Lynyrd Skynyrd's That Smell played on the loud speakers behind us.

I didn't get to hear his answer because Budd's voice over the loud music broke our miniature silence. "Dylan – dance – over here – 300."

I turned in my seat, shrugging off the jacket, which I handed over to Danny, while I took one last shot. Jack grabbed my arm roughly, "Dylan. Stop. You're better than this." I slapped him drunkenly across the face, ripping my arm from his grip as I walked over to where Budd was standing over to a fat white man in a black suit and undone tie. "Dylan, this is Councilman Stevens." The slime looked at me up and down, licking his lips. I tried my very best to smile. Feeling light headed, I sat down as fast as I possibly could. Or fell, rather.

_Now they call you Prince Charming _

_Can't speak a word when you're full of 'ludes _

_Say you'll be all right come tomorrow _

_But tomorrow might not be here for you _

_Ooooh that smell _

_Can't you smell that smell _

_Ooooh that smell _

_The smell of death surrounds you_

There was a funny taste in my mouth as I started to give him the average lap dance as best I could. I recognized the taste: Metal. The metallic flavor was only ever present in my mouth when I was about to have a seizure.

**No.**

This couldn't be happening.

I could feel it scratching at the back of my brain, slowly making its way to my consciousness. I just had to fight it for a little longer and then I could go back to the dressing room. Please, God, just let me get this extra 300 bucks.

I had always known there wasn't a God.

_One little problem that confronts you _

_Got a monkey on your back _

_Just one more fix, Lord might do the trick _

_One hell of a price for you to get your kicks _

_Ooooh that smell _

_Can't you smell that smell _

_Ooooh that smell _

_The smell of death surrounds you_

Trying to keep as calm as I possibly could, I smoothly stepped off the Councilman's lap. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he shouted at me, his goons stepping in all around me. I collapsed down on the ground, getting into fetal position. People all around me started yelling frantically for help and ear pressed to the ground, I could hear people backing away from me as I started to let the attack consume me. The girls were yelling in panicked voices. The men were trying to figure out what to do, alarmed.

Oooh, that smell 

_Can't you smell that smell?_

_Oooh, that smell_

The smell of death around you 

All I could smell was smoke and bile. All I could taste was the metal in my mouth that wouldn't seem to go away. I could only feel the cold wet, germ-ridden floor on my cheek. The music was still blaring in my ears. The darkness was all around me even though I knew there were lights on in the club.

"Is she okay?"

"What's happening to her?"

"Somebody get some help!"

"Oh my god. Dylan!"

"Everyone step back and give her some air!"

Oooh, that smell 

_Can't you smell that smell?_

_Oooh, that smell_

_The smell of death around you_

Why wasn't someone helping me? Why wasn't somebody _doing_ something? Why—

I blacked out just as someone grabbed hold of my arm.

XXXXXXX 

_Oh, man._

_My head kills._

_How much did I have to drink last night?_

_Ten, eleven, maybe twelve glasses of wine. And that was just the white._

_It was **supposed** to be a celebration._

_Yeah, well, it's all a celebration until you wake up with a hangover._

_What the hell is that beeping sound?_

_With my eyes closed, I wasn't able to tell the intensity of the light above me. Immediately after opening them, I quickly shut them again. Whoever left the lights on needs to be shot. Repeatedly. And since when did we have those lights in out apartment? And why isn't Michael getting up to find out what that sound was? I reached over next me to shake him awake, instantly regretting it when my hand struck plastic._

_I risked opening my eyes again, letting them burn under the rays of light from the giant ceiling light above me. The room quite large, fitting at least 5 or 6 beds within it and huge windows were on the north wall of the room. The sun was just setting, making the sky a beautiful purple color. _

_My hands and arms felt heavy and I looked down to see why._

_Stifling a scream, I looked at my arms in amazement at the tubes that were running in and out of almost every part of my body. Following the wires and tubes with my eyes, I saw that there was fluid running through them, making my veins tingle with every flow that entered them. The beeping sound was coming from my very own heart monitor on the stand next to me._

_Where the hell was I? And, more importantly, where was Michael?_

_Just then a middle-aged looking nurse walked in. Hang on, a nurse? Hospital? Why was I in the hospital? She looked taken aback that I was awake, almost as taken aback as I was. "Oh, you're awake," she said, obviously. Yeah, no shit I'm awake._

_I decided to take the polite approach. "Where am I?" I asked, gripping tightly at the blankets on top of me. Why did my head hurt so much? My hangovers weren't usually this bad._

_The nurse looked at me, frowning sympathetically. It was almost a patronizing smile. "Why, you don't remember the accident?"_

_Accident? What accident? All I could remember from the previous night was Michael's promotion party. People wishing both of us congratulations, patting Michael on the back, drinking, pouring more wine. We fought over the keys, I remember losing miserably, but laughing, good-naturedly about the whole affair. Michael mumbling about something… Then—_

_Then there were bright lights, a giant crash on Michael's side of the car. Spinning, spinning, spinning. Oh god, more spinning. Windows were shattering all around us, metal was distorting and crushing, rubber tires were screeching on the black tarmac. Both of us were screaming, covering our eyes with bleeding hands. And then it all went black. _

_I looked at the nurse with wide eyes, "Michael?" I asked her, tears starting to fall from my burning eyes and roll down my cheeks, which felt numb and cold. I was scared of what the answer would be. Actually, I was terrified. More terrified than I'd ever been in my entire life._

_The nurse gestured with her hand to the bed behind her._

_Sitting up slowly, holding on tightly to the metal bars on either side of me. _

_One of my worst nightmares came true that day, and I feel as though I will never be the same._

XXXXXXXX 

When I came to, the contrast in settings between the prior area and this one was drastic. Despite the fact that I could still hear a distant, muffled beat in the background, the room was reasonably quiet. There was a pillow under my head and something warm was wrapped around me.

Could I even move?

I let my eyes flutter open, wiggling my fingers, testing to see if they worked. Their movement seemed fine. I didn't seem to have broken anything. But my god did my head hurt. I was still dizzy from the drinks, which meant that it couldn't have been much long after. No more than an hour, I'd say.

I knew where I was instantly: back in that dressing room, lying on the chaise lounge in the corner, a thick blanket draped over me. The lights were dim as they always were but I could still see everything and everyone around me. My wig was situated on the make up desk. _Great,_ I thought, _that'll take me hours to get untangled. _I shifted my eyes to the other unusual beings in this picture. Budd was pacing the room, rubbing his hands together, while Whitey and Jack were all looking at the ground, vacant expressions on their faces.

I probably looked like hell. I certainly felt like it. I wondered if Budd would let me go home early tonight. Tiredness was just one of the feelings I was overcome with. _I guess I'm not gonna get that 300 dollars then…_

It was Jack who looked up at me first. "Hey," he said as simply as he had that first day. He looked worried. More worried than he did earlier. Why was he still here? Wouldn't his brothers be waiting for him at home?

Budd stopped pacing and Whitey's head snapped up to look at me, before he darted to my side. "Hey, sweetheart, how you feelin'?" He had his hand on my hairline and was stroking my forehead with his thumb, soothingly.

How was I feeling? I'd just lost 300 bucks. I'd just had a seizure on the floor of the Spyder club; my face was probably disgustingly dirty. I touched it, expecting it to feel sticky, but instead it was clean. Free of both dirt _and _make up. I grazed my fingertips along the top of my eyebrow to find a lump and what felt like a pretty critical gash. I hoped I wasn't brain damaged or anything. What had it hit my head on, anyway?

I began to speak, but the words wouldn't come out. It was as though my vocal chords had disappeared and I was left with just a throat and tongue. I tried harder to speak again. "What time is it?" I asked, looking up at Budd, who was blinking down at me with fatherly concern.

He straightened up, reverting back to the businessman persona, "It's 2:30 in the morning." 2:30? I'd been out for 2 and a half hours? He started shoveling the make up on the table back into my black backpack. "And it is also time for you to go home and get some sleep." I opened my mouth in a miniature gap and looked up at Whitey, who was still near my head. He grinned, raising his eyebrows at me. Budd never, I repeat **never** lets anyone go home early and I mean no one.

I sat up abruptly. A little too abruptly, making my head spin and ache horribly. I remembered how low on cash I was and how much food was – or rather, wasn't – in my fridge. The money that was thrown to me earlier was hardly enough to pay the electric bill as well as cat food and a frozen dinner. The room spun with me and I let my head loll into the palm of my hands, causing me to almost fall flat on my face, had Jack not rushed forward and caught me. He held me by the arms while I inadvertently buried my face in his black coat.

"Can you walk her home, kid?" I heard Budd ask Whitey as he tried to rearrange my clothing to cover me more modestly, if that was possible in the outfit I was in. Jack tried pulling my black coat over my shoulders to keep my bare skin warm. Well, warmish.

Settling me back down on the settee, he slung my backpack over his right shoulder. Wait a second. **JACK** was walking me home? Where the hell was I, in an alternate universe?

"No fucking way," I said, standing up abruptly, causing the three of them to look at me, surprised.

Jack stepped forward with my backpack still over his shoulder, reaching out a hand to steady me before I stepped back out of his touch, my legs hitting the settee. He kept his eyes on the ground, as though he didn't want to look me in the face. "Yes, Dylan, I am." His voice was low and he sounded as though he was trying to be firm with his words.

I scoffed out loud. "Like hell you are." My words seemed to be slurring all together, despite my attempts to speak properly. I turned my eyes away from Jack to look at Budd and Whitey with pleading eyes. "Please," I said, as they shook their heads in sync with each other. I scoffed again, louder this time, "Look, I'm fine. I can walk home by myself just fine." The dizziness began to overcome me again and I was no longer standing vertically.

I felt Jack's hands under my arms as I almost hit the floor again for about the 10th time that night. It was his turn to scoff this time, trying to settle me on my own two feet. "Yeah, I can really see that you're in stable condition," he said, sarcastically.

There was no way in hell I was letting him walk me home.

Absolutely no way.

XXXXXX 

"So where are you living nowadays?" Jack said, trying to be casual. I don't think he'd forgotten what I'd said to him earlier. And I still hadn't forgotten what he'd said to me either.

I slammed the backdoor of the club open, sighing to myself. Budd had made me promise that I would let Jack walk me home. But since when in anyone's life did promises mean anything? I was planning on ditching him as soon as we turned the corner. Although, my legs didn't cease to vibrate, I was certain that I would be able to control them as soon as I started to walk. The air was freezing all around me and snow was falling down thick on the already white ground.

I still hadn't answered his question as we rounded the corner, out of sight of Spyder. I spun around so that I was facing him, catching him off guard. "You can piss off now, Jack." His face didn't look surprised at all. Actually, a smile spread across his face.

"I thought you might say that," he said, pointing a finger at me, wrinkling his nose as though I was a child being ridiculous.

I rolled my eyes, and carried on walking in the direction of my apartment, Jack trailing behind me. I shoved my hands deep into the pockets of my coat. It was about a 20 minute walk home and my legs didn't seem to becoming any more stable by the second. In fact, they appeared to be getting worse. I pulled out my carton of cigarettes and stuck one in my mouth before lighting it, stumbling for a moment after having to multi-task. I felt nauseous, my head still spinning in its skull.

His footsteps sped up from behind me, before slowing down when he saw that I was still standing. "So, I was thinking –"

"Dangerous enough in itself," I muttered into my cigarette.

He chose to ignore the wit of my comment and carried on. Fool. "I was thinking that I owed you for that cigarette that you gave me the day we met."

"And what a pleasant and memorable day that was…" I remarked, blowing my smoke to the sky, through the snow and the cold.

"…So, I've decided that me walking you home will serve as payment," he finished, obviously pleased with himself for thinking up this proposal all by himself.

Chuckling to myself, in mock friendliness. "And _I've _decided that I'd rather have my teeth pulled, frankly."

"Now, Dylan," he said, matching my own chuckle with a genuine one. "I think we _both_ know that's not true."

"Oh really?" he was still about 10 paces behind me and I was trying to speed up my own walk, hoping that he would get the message.

"Yes, really."

Taking a few drags on the cigarette, "And here I was thinking that you had at least _some_ sort of sense."

"Do you even know what day it is?" he asked me, clearly already knowing the answer. What the hell did that have to do with anything?

"Does it really matter?" I stated, flatly.

Taking a few extra steps to catch up to me, unsuccessfully, I saw him shrug out of the corner of my eye. "Well, that all depends."

I laughed, cynically. "On?"

I heard him try to hide that fact that he was breathing more heavily on account of walking so fast. "On whether or not you were planning on spending tonight by yourself or not."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I shook my head before I unsubtly tripped over flat ground, making me fly forward. Luckily, I landed on my feet, which was amazing considering what I was wearing.

He saw his chance and caught up to me, speed walking by my side. God, his legs were long. It took about 3 of my own steps to fit into just one of his. But then again, I _was_ wearing 4 inch heels. "It's Christmas Eve, Dylan," he said, simply. He paused for a second, thinking. "Well, actually, technically, it's Christmas _now_."

Was it? I didn't even know what month it was. But, honestly, what was the point in celebrating if you have no one to celebrate with? "So?" I stated, keeping my eyes on my shoes.

"So, I thought it would be better for you if you came and celebrated with me and _my_ family," he said, leaning slightly toward me so that he could catch me if I started to topple over.

I exhaled the smoke that was in my lungs sharply. I thought for a moment before turning around to look at him, sidestepping on the concrete. "You, Jack Mercer, are just one endless chaos theory, aren't you?" I declared.

It was his turn to laugh. "Oh yeah, how do you figure?"

"Tonight," I started, "You come to my place of business—"

"You could _hardly_ call that a place of business."

I closed my eyes, infuriated beyond belief, but trying to keep my head calm. "YOU COME TO MY PLACE OF BUSINESS," I repeated louder this time, "Getting me all stressed out and neurotic, causing me to have an epileptic fit, making me miss out on 300 big ones and any other money I was going to earn that night. That money was going to pay my electric bill!" I shouted.

"You call that a chaos theory? And what about—"

Holding up my hand, I interrupted him, raising my voice even more, "First time we met. You make me see red, almost to the point of me passing out, while you insist on stealing my 5th to last cigarette, _which, _by the way, I needed for later after I got FIRED."

He raised an eyebrow at me, "And what does that have to do with me?"

"Not a lot," I said, turning around so that my back was to him, not trusting myself to stay on my feet for another second. "It just pissed the hell out of me, that's all."

"Look at you, Dylan, you can barely stand, let alone walk." He grabbed hold of my left arm, trying to support me in my steps. I was trying with all my willpower not to skid on the icy ground below me. He swiftly spun me around so that he could see my face. "You look like hell," he told me after observing my face for a moment.

I clicked my tongue at him, exasperatedly. "Listen, Cracker Jack, you're about two comments away from me shoving this cigarette in your eye," I exclaimed, trying to rid myself of his strong hands, but no such luck. I gave in and went limp between them. I looked up into his blue eyes, sighing, "What do you want from me, Jack?"

"I want to make sure you're okay," he said, quietly, but keeping his eyes on mine. He was being serious now, I could tell by the look on his face. I looked down at the ground, afraid of what he would see deep in my own eyes.

"I'm fine," I said, weakly trying to free myself again. I realized for the first time that I was shivering uncontrollably and that I was trying to fight the overwhelming urge to throw up right there on the sidewalk, as unladylike as it was. My stomach turned. A couple times from what I could tell. "Oh God, Jack. Oh fuck."

And right there, half way between my crappy apartment building and the Spyder Club strip joint, Jack Mercer held back my hair as I threw up half my body weight in about 2 minutes before passing out all together.


	5. More Adventurous

**Chapter 5: More Adventurous**

"_Dylan."_

_I was looking down at the coffee cup in front of me, stirring ever so gently, trying not to look up into the eyes of the person across from me. _

"_Dylan, look at me."_

_The voice was firm and demanding, but not harsh. Just demanding enough to get me to look at them, generally. But this time, I was able to control myself and kept my eyes on the dark brown liquid in the white cup. My eyes were becoming hot with tears forming from within their sockets. I had become used to the feeling in the past week, had even been able to control it from happening, but she always knew how to bring out my deepest, darkest feelings. Ones that I didn't even know I was feeling. Or existed._

_I heard her sigh, but it wasn't a sigh of defeat. No. She never gave up. "Dylan," she said my name again and I could tell that lecture or an anecdote of some kind was to come. "When Jackie first came to live with me and the boys, he'd had a hard time with foster homes, many many foster homes and he was having a difficult time opening up to anyone. He wasn't sure how to act in a loving household or how to love, for that matter. So I bought him a bird to make him feel better."_

_I looked up at her, a hint of a smile on my lips, even though I tried to hide it. It was final. Evelyn Mercer had finally lost her mind. _

_She chuckled at the expression on my face. "Yes, I bought him a white dove so as to make some sort of peace that needed to be made. Not in the war between him and I, but the war within himself and his past and all the bad things that happened to him." She paused, as she looked nostalgic for a moment, before returning back to me. _

"_He loved that bird," she continued, "more than anything and anyone in his life and he was able to take care of it better than all of his foster parents had put together, but then, that's not really saying much, is it?"_

_I continued to look at her through bleary eyes with interest. I loved when she told me stories about her sons. It made me feel closer to her than ever. Closer to her than my own parents. Not that it was difficult._

"_Anyway, one day, about two weeks after we got Courtney—"_

"_Courtney Dove?" I interrupted in amusement, feeling my eyes cool down slightly. _

_Evelyn laughed, heartily, looking down at her own coffee cup. "Jack's sense of humor never ceased to surprise me," she said, before taking a sip of her drink. She placed the cup back on its saucer with a clink of china on china. "Well, two weeks after we got her, Bobby thought it would be hilariously funny to open Jack's bedroom window and release Courtney into the skies above. Mind you, he was grounded for a month and Jack, of course, was terribly upset and stayed in his room for a week, refusing to go to school, shower, or anything."_

"_Evelyn, is there a point to this story?" I asked, not really impatiently, but I needed to get back to work soon, since my break was only an hour and I only had 10 minutes left._

_She smiled warmly at me. She was used to me. She was used to everyone. "A year later the bird returned to the very same window that it had flew out of. A little worse for wear and some feathers ruffled, but it was the same bird all the same."_

_I tried to comprehend the underlying meaning of what she was telling me. "So, what, Michael's the dove?"_

_Smiling, she shook her head at me. "No, Dylan," she said. "_You're _the dove."_

_I furrowed my brow at her. "And so the moral of the story is?"_

_She began to get money out of her purse, "The moral of the story is that no matter how many ordeals or how much chaos you've been through or are going through now," she paused to look me in the eyes, "You're still going to get out of this at some point or another. Your feathers may be ruffled and missing, and you will probably be a little worse for wear, just like that bird, but you are still going to be you."_

_I watched as she stood up, throwing the money down on the table. My eyes were beginning to burn again. "How do you know I will, Evelyn?" I questioned her softly._

_She sighed, placing a soothing hand on my cheek. "I know because you are stronger than you think you are," she said and then left the diner._

XXXXXXXX 

I had been trying to fool myself that I was still asleep for the past 10 minutes. I still refused to open my eyes, hoping, praying that I could get back to sleep. I probably had bags under my eyes the size of Mexico and my head was pounding, even though the music in the background was soft. How had I gotten home? Something was off. There was a pillow under my head and I was actually warm for once. First of all, I _never _use a pillow, not since I'd read that article in the newspaper that says it gives you a double chin and triggers snoring. Second of all, regardless of the even smaller size of my new (and I use that term lightly) apartment, it always managed to be below freezing and no matter how many blankets or duvets I covered myself with, I permanently had goosebumps on my arms and legs. I risked opening my eyes slightly.

Despite the fact that it was still dark outside, and according to the clock, it was 6 o'clock in the morning, there was a dim light of a lamp coming from behind a mini fridge and television. The single bed and room I was in were completely unfamiliar to me. The blue-painted room itself was small, but most of it was taken up by clutter and, even though I had removed to blankets from my chest I was still warm. There was a guitar in the corner and some kind of surround-sound equipment scattered around the edges of the room. I felt myself envious of whoever's room this was. _I wish I had enough money to afford this kinda shit._

I wasn't even wearing my own clothes. Who the hell had dressed me… In a Pink Floyd tour t-shirt and boxers? Fiddling with a dark brown curl, I found that my hair was damp and was probably sticking up at all angles. When had I washed my hair? I don't remember showering or bathing…

I closed my eyes again, hoping that I would be able to fall back to sleep sometime soon, for a few minutes at least before I had to go back into the cold once more.

Breathing in the scent of the pillow beneath my head, I snapped my eyes back open. I knew that smell. As much as I wished I didn't, I did. And as good as it smelled, and as much as I hated to admit that it did, indeed, smell good, I knew the smell all too well. I rolled over onto my other side, so I wasn't facing the wall and observed my surroundings again.

I strained my memory to remember what had gone on last night. I remembered Whitey, Budd, Jack, the seizure… But what happened after the seizure? My mind was at a block and I flopped back down onto the pillow in frustration, immediately cracking my head hard on the shelf behind me.

_OW, _I winced in unquestionable pain, running my fingers through my hair at the back of my head where the wood had made impact. I could already feel a bruise forming.

A low grunt and snuffle came from a wooden chair in the corner of the room.

I squinted in the direction of the sound, trying to make out who it was, although, in my heart, I already knew.

"God dammit, Jack," I said, almost inaudibly, shaking my head. He stirred in the wood chair but his eyes remained closed. He was still in the clothes he wore last night and his hair stuck up at all angles, almost duplicating the mess that was my own hair. His wrists were draped over the arms of the chair and he was slumped into the shape of the seat, as though he'd spent ages trying to find the perfect, most comfortable position to be in. His mouth was open slightly, though not obviously. He looked as innocent and helpless as he had the day I'd met him in the hospital – well, before he'd opened his big mouth – and a flicker of the thought that he might not actually be that bad a guy formed and quickly disappeared from my mind.

I mentally kicked myself for even thinking it.

I lay there for a few more moments, then decided that it was impossible for me to get back to sleep within the next 5 minutes. As quietly as I possibly could, I removed the blankets from my bare legs. I turned on the side of the bed so that my legs were hanging off the edge, feet making contact with the carpeted floor. I sighed for a second, trying to will myself to get the nerve to actually stand. Finally, I succeeded, stretching my arms above my head in the process.

I needed coffee.

I needed to get home.

I needed to see Michael.

Looking down at my current apparel, I realized that I would probably need something more on myself than just some boxers and a t-shirt. Surveying the room again, my eyes fell upon a heap of clothing, a pair of jeans on top. I held them up to my waist before pulling them on above the boxers. They were loose, that was apparent and I wouldn't be able to keep pulling them up in the cold outside. A belt hung from the end of the bed. Grabbing it, I looped it around my waist, and fastened it on the last hole. I spotted my shoes by the door and picked them up by the straps as I stood in the open doorway, giving the room one last glance. I sighed when I realized that last night's outfit really was nowhere to be found.

Jack stirred again in his chair, mumbling nonsense in his sleep. I couldn't help but smile a little. He was so much more pleasant this way. Placing my shoes back on the floor again, I grabbed hold of one of the blankets on the bed and slowly approached Jack's corner of the room, stepping lightly on the carpeted wooden floor so as not to wake him. I gently placed the red, flannel blanket over him, smiling at the sight again. I looked down and saw that his shoes were still on his feet. I bent down and carefully and quietly slipped each of them off before placing them on the floor next to him. I quickly straightened up to keep myself from trying to carry him to the bed or something. _Jeez, sometimes I question my own cynicism… _

Figuring that my clothes from last night were expendable, I turned my back on him and picked my shoes up on my way out of the bedroom.

My black coat was hanging on the banister at the bottom of the stairs, the hem spreading out on the floor around surrounding it. I paused before taking it from its position, mentally taking in the hallway of the small house. Evelyn's house. The smell was one that I could already tell I wasn't going to be forgetting for a long time. It was a comforting smell, which made sense, considering the kind of person she was. I wondered how many lives she'd touched within these walls. Touching the doorframe of the adjoining living room, I peered inside the dimly lit room. It was just how I'd imagined and more. It was just so… Evelyn. Simple. Sweet. Warm. And I would regret never stepping foot in it again.

Taking one last lungful of the scent and aura of the household, I slipped on my coat and silently stepped through the door.

It was definitely winter outside. And it felt like Christmas was all around me as I walked out of the Mercer house and down the street in the direction – which I was almost positive – was in the direction of my house. I was relieved when everything began to become more and more familiar as I continued to walk. The streets were completely vacant. Not even the drug dealers or gang bangers were out on Christmas and for that I was thankful. The last thing I needed were some guys hassling me.

The sun was just rising over the buildings around me. It wasn't snowing anymore, which was good as I was still inappropriately dressed for the weather anyway. But snow was still covering the sidewalk in giant mounds on either side of me. There was no real difference between sunrise and sunset, I'd decided since I'd started working nights a year ago. The only difference was what each led to.

The wind whipped around me, blowing my hair in all directions and it was too cold for me to prevent it.

Sunlight hit the streets and people began to open their stores and leave for work. I sighed, remembering that I would have to be getting ready for work in less than 12 hours from now. I wonder if Budd was furious with what happened last night. Not that I really had control over the whole incident. But the mental strain of the previous night was wearing me out. Do people even go to strip clubs on Christmas? What had Budd said at the staff meeting last week… Ha, "staff meeting"… What a joke.

"_Now, everybody listen to this. Yes, even you, Dylan. We are _not,_ I repeat, are _not _going to be open on Christmas evening. So don't expect me to pay you if you show up… "_

_Thank God, _I thought. _One less thing I'd have to dread today._

I finally reached my building and pulled out my key. The hallway was a sad sight. The whole establishment itself was pretty sad but, in my mind, hallways always made the first impression, thus if the entrance was a disgrace, so was the rest of the building. And believe me, it was. The corridor was extremely dimly lit, which always made me want to rush to my door, just in case someone was lurking in the shadows. There were about 4 or 5 floors in the entire building, each floor consisting of about 7 apartments with paper-thin floors, walls, and ceilings. Three room apartments. And that was including bathroom and kitchen.

I could already hear babies crying all the way from upstairs as I made my way down the first floor hall. All newcomers live on the first floor. I hated it. The windows were low enough for anyone to look in, break in, anything. And, again, believe me, anyone did.

Sydney greeted me as I opened the door and stepped into the kitchen, then closing the heavy, metal door behind me, removing my keys from the lock in the process before throwing them carelessly on the armchair in the corner.

"Hey, Syd," I said, picking the purring grey cat up, stroking her pensively as I sifted through the mail.

Junk, junk, junk, bill, more junk, family letter, even more junk… I threw the envelopes down on the counter while dropping Sydney on the floor. She landed perfectly and gracefully on her feet. She was starting to look a bit skinny. Still keeping my eyes on her, I turned and opened the fridge to view it's contents. Of which there were none. Well, unless you count stale milk and some other… stuff, which I certainly don't. As if on cue, my stomach growled loudly, causing the cat to look up from the spider she was trying to capture between her paws. She licked her lips, as if in the anticipation of food.

I looked down at her as though, expecting _her_ to offer to go to the grocery store. No luck there. Big fuckin' surprise. "Okay," I said, holding my hands up defensively, walking towards the door, "Okay, fine I'll go this time, but you're gonna have to go sometime." Still wearing the black jacket over jeans and shirt I stole, I left the building and went back into the brisk air.

**XXXXXXXXX**

"Oh for fuck sake," I exhaled the smoke in my lungs, exasperatedly, fumbling with the bobby pin and plastic bags in my cold hands. I was outside in the cold still and was trying to get in without the keys, which I'd idiotically left back in the apartment. Still kicking myself, I set my bags down beside me and knelt down in front of the windowpane of the door, sticking my tongue out in concentration. "Come on…" I said, remembering exactly what I'd been taught so many years ago. Rotate, push, jiggle, and…

_Click._

I laughed, triumphantly out loud as I pulled the door open and stepped into the windless corridor, taking my bags with me. I shuffled quickly to my door before kneeling before it. This was going to be more difficult. For one thing, the lighting was terrible. Also, this had a different, more complex lock than that of the lock in the front door. Cigarette still dangling from in between my lips, I began to break into my own apartment.

"You're doing that the hard way, you know?"

I shot to my feet, shrieking at the top of my lungs, as I rounded on my attacker. Dropping my bobby pin, I took the cigarette out of my mouth and pointed it at the offender as some sort of weapon, not really knowing what I was going to do with it.

"YOU!" I shouted, when I realized who it was. I lowered my weapon and stepped over to where he had that stupid, dumb grin on his face, punching him in the arm as hard as I could, which wasn't really saying much. "YOU FUCKING IDIOT, MERCER, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TRYING TO DO TO ME!" I yelled at him, when I'd finished attempting to beat the crap out of him unsuccessfully, before cursing him with all sorts of obscenities under my breath. I stuck the cigarette back in my mouth and dragged on it, fuming.

"You know, you're kinda cute when you're mad," he said, smirking cockily at my outburst.

I shot a glare at him. "I'm always mad when I see you, how the fuck would you know any different?" I felt my pulse with my still frozen fingers, trying to get my heart rate back to normal. He watched me for a moment before walking over to my door, picking up the pin I'd dropped.

There was a silence between us. Jack cleared his throat, "You could've at least said goodbye," he said, as he began to fiddle with the lock. Within a matter of seconds, the door was wide open.

Jack stood up, his back still to me, brushing himself off. He turned around and held out his hand, as if expecting me to take it and have him lead me into my own apartment.

Shaking my head, I picked up the bags of groceries and walked casually into the apartment. I walked around the counter and opened up the empty fridge as calmly as I possibly could, considering the amount of shock I'd been under a few moments ago. Jack, who had seemed to have invited himself into my apartment, rested his elbows on the counter across from me, looking at me expectantly. I glanced at him, silently daring him to say another word. He took the dare, smiling.

"And not only did you forget to say goodbye—"

I interrupted him, mid-sentence, "Who says I forgot?"

He continued, without fail, "But you also borrowed my favorite jeans without asking." He gestured to the pants I was wearing under my black coat. His eyes widened when he saw everything else I was wearing and his smile faded. He walked swiftly around the counter to open the black coat to see what else of his I was wearing. "You're also wearing my t-shirt as well as my only belt!"

Now it was my turn to smirk, "Oh, and don't forget the boxers covered in guitars!" I said, excitedly. I got him now!

"Oh, man," he exclaimed looking around, running a hand through his hair. He looked generally stressed out. Good. I'm glad. Sort of. "And those were clean, too!"

I snapped my fingers together, sarcastically. "Oh, damn, maybe this means you'll finally have to start leaving me the hell alone before I go and roll around in every single clean article of clothing you possess." He looked slightly turned on as that smile returned slowly. "Don't be crude," I said, shrugging off my jacket and turned back to the plastic bags on the counter.

"'Would never dreamed of it," he said, from behind me.

I flipped him off over my shoulder and it was silent for a while, as I unpacked the groceries out in front of me, and I wondered if he'd gone.

_Fat fucking chance._

Right as I opened the freezer to put the frozen peas, Jack had stepped behind me, reached into the ice box, grabbing a piece of ice, and before I even had time to react, he had promptly dropping it down the back of the Pink Floyd t-shirt.

"JACK!" I howled at the top of my lungs, while shaking the neckline of the shirt, vigorously as I tried to free my back from the icy coldness running down it. The cube fell out almost instantly, on account of the shirt being so big. I turned on my heels, to face Jack, who could already see what was coming. "Oh _my _god. I swear, you must be seriously like 12 years old in there," I said, finding that I was unable to hold back a smile any longer. A smile _and_ a laugh, for that matter.

He smiled with me for a moment before seriously answering, "Actually 13," he corrected. "My mental state just had a birthday."

"Did it, now?" I smiled in mock surprise, back at him, finding myself unable to do anything else. "Well, happy birthday, mental state."

He laughed through his playful grin, looking down at the groceries that still needed to be unpacked. "See, I knew you couldn't _totally_ hate me," he said.

I put on a mysterious face and jumped up on the counter so that my denim clad legs dangled in the direction of the floor. "Now, how can you be so sure?" I asked, playfully. "How do you know I'm not under the influence, or something?"

Laughing again, he said, "Because that definitely didn't affect your judgment last night when you slapped me. Hard, might I add?"

I remembered doing it and I _did _feel a little bad, but refused to show it. Hopping down from the countertop, I returned back to the 7 plastic bags of food in front of me. "Don't be such a wimp, Mercer, you could've at least taken it like a man." I shook my head before reaching into one of the bags and grabbing milk, which I placed in the fridge. I still felt Jack's presence next to me, even if I didn't see him, just as I had done last night at the bar. I looked over at Jack who was flipping through the calendar that was hung above my microwave, with interest.

When he realized I was looking at him, I smiled weakly at him again.

"So, are you gonna help me unpack this stuff or what?"

XXXXXXXX 

"What do you think's wrong with _that_ guy?" Jack asked, throwing the plastic black sack he had in his hand over his shoulder, as he pointed to some old guy on a stretcher with a heart monitor and drip attached to him from inside his hospital gown.

I sighed, rolling my eyes for about the a millionth time in the space of 20 minutes. "You know, when I asked you to come with me, I did it because I wanted company, not white noise."

Jack and I were walking down the hallway of Henry Ford Hospital, on our way, well, my way, to visit Michael. I had asked Jack to come with me so I wouldn't feel guilty when I left, a decision I sincerely regretted making.

_You have a lying problem, Dylan._

_Shut up, if I do, then so do you, so just shut your mouth._

_Tell the truth, you want him around because he's cute. Well, **hot.**_

_Sometimes I wonder about you._

_You don't have to tell me, I know all._

_Weirdo…_

_Desperately in love… And I'm not talking about Michael._

_God, I'm so sick minded._

It was silent next to me for a little bit and we were close to the room, but not close enough when he spoke again. "Do you think that nurse wants me?" he said looking back at the nurses' station we were passing on our way to the next elevator.

This caught my ears and I looked back in the direction of the group of nurses giggling together looking in our direction. I looked up at Jack, who was waving cockily back at them. I giggled and Jack laughed deeply, facing forward again, so obviously putting some kind of macho guy walk on, or something. I stopped him in the middle of the corridor where we were walking, taking a good look at him.

"What're you doing?" he asked as I reached up – with difficulty, I might add, because of his 6'2" height against my 5'6" frame – trying to flatten the mess of hair that was on top of his head. He smiled, suspiciously as I licked my finger, rubbing some dirt of his cheek and then straightened out his clothing.

Without saying another word I smiled, I turned around so that I was walking backwards and yelled, loud enough for the nurses and possibly some of the patients on that floor to hear, "THE BIDDING WILL START AT $20, LADIES! DO I HEAR 20! Come on, this guys really somethin' and he needs to get laid—"

I was cut off by Jack grabbing me around the legs, throwing me over his shoulder and running the rest of the way to the elevator, me shrieking and laughing all the way.

Once inside the elevator he set me down on my feet and pushed the button. I was still laughing my head off and could barely stand, let alone breathe. "Can I just say," I said in between gasps for air, "best payback EVER." I grabbed on to his arm with one hand and onto the outer railing of the elevator for support.

Jack was just shaking his head, a half smile on his face as he muttered, "And the humorous, and dare I say it, slightly mean side of Dylan comes out."

I straightened up, patting my companion on the back in a somewhat over-exaggerated manner. "Oh, lighten up, Jacko. I'm just trying to get some money by whoring someone other than myself." I paused before saying, "You seemed like the perfect candidate." The doors opened up in front of us and Jack shook his head as he walked out, in pseudo anguish. I called after him, "And they looked interested too, although I can't see why."

This time, Jack was the one walking backwards. "Hey! I'm one hell of a catch, I'll have you know!" he shouted, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

I pretended to look surprised that anything had been suggested otherwise. "Besides the fact that you use the word 'catch', a word which hasn't been used since, what, the eighties, I suppose you are. I mean, did you see the way they were just all stampeding towards us? Now, that was some scary shit right there." I knew I'd worn him down.

Turning back around the right way, he slowed his pace until I was able to catch up with him. Raising his hand, only slightly because of the height difference, he ruffled my hair before resting his forearm on my shoulders as we carried on walking toward s Michael's room.

Something in the pit of my stomach sparked and continued to spark, despite my efforts to keep it down. I felt like I was back in high school and was spending time after school with a crush. But this was different. This wasn't high school at all; this wasn't a crush at all.

I think he knew what I was thinking because he let his arm drop back down to his side and we were left in silence, except for the constant footsteps of both our shoes on the linoleum floor. I was relieved when we reached the door to Michael. The door felt even heavier than usual, which made me feel kind of sick to my stomach. It really had been too long since I'd been here and I felt so bad I wanted to cry.

The room was dark when we entered except for the twinkle lights hanging in the window, perfectly revealing Michael laying the exact same bed I'd left him in. I lifted my hand to the light switch, before deciding against it. It was more intimate this way. It was more like Christmas.

I hadn't realized how long I'd been standing in the doorway, until I felt the weight of Jack's warm hand on my shoulder, his thumb soothingly caressing my shoulder blade. I half looked back at him before entering the room completely and walking over to the bed where my boyfriend lay, Jack following me, still dragging the black bag behind him.

I stood over his bed like I had so many times before and thought the same thing I always did: that he looked exactly the same, yet completely different, if that was possible, and it made me shutter to think that it had been so long since I'd been here. Too long. And I hated myself for it, more than I've ever hated anyone in my entire life. And believe me when I say, I've hated _a lot_ of people in my life. I remembered the times before all of this. The Christmases before this and last year's, when things were good and everything was going well. Things were going real well. Michael gave me so much love. Love that I knew I didn't deserve and love that I felt I couldn't return. He was braver than I could ever be, and I'd be damned if he woke up and wasn't twice as strong as he was when he left. I mean, died. I mean –

It wasn't until Jack walked over to the other side of the bed next to me and pulled me into a one-armed hug that realized tears were streaming down my face, falling in solitary drops on the ground and my feet below me. I heard him drop the sack on the ground as he put the other arm around my neck. He kissed my head as I gripped his sweater, burying my face into his scent and warmth, as the fibers itched my skin. I was sobbing and heaving great, giant breaths as he held me tight against him. He comfortingly ran his hand along my back and, instead of shushing me like any other person would, he sang softly into my ear in a low, raspy voice as I sobbed into his chest. I recognized the song immediately as Rilo Kiley's "More Adventurous."

I don't know how long we stayed that way for. We were just standing next to Michael's bed rocking in each other's arms, the twinkle lights sparkling out of the corner of most likely bloodshot eyes.

After Jack hummed the second chorus for the second time, he peeled my tear stained face away from his clothes. I looked back up at him and I couldn't even imagine the state of my make up at that moment. He gave me a miniature, almost uncomfortable smile, using his thumb to wipe the tears from my cheeks, probably smearing black eye liner and mascara across my entire face along with them. But that was the last thing that was on my mind.

"Thanks," I said, hoping I didn't use his sweater as a tissue too much.

He grinned at me before saying, "Mom was right about you."

What did he mean, 'Mom was right about you'? He kissed my forehead, and my skin tingled at the touch of his lips. But the moment was over as soon as it had begun.

"Now," he said, kneeling down and opening the garbage bag to reveal the presents that I had bought for Michael before he was in a coma. Jack had convinced me to give them to him now, so that I could have some sort of Christmas. "Which one should he open first?" he asked, looking up at me.

"That one," I said, pointing at the present on top, yet unable to take my eyes of his face.

Jack's face.

**XXXXXX**

_It's only doubts that we're counting_

_On fingers broken long ago_

_I read with every broken heart_

_We should become more adventurous_

_If you banish me from your profits_

_And if I get banished from the kingdom up above_

_I'll sacrifice money and heaven all for love_

_Let me be loved let me be loved_

_If my brain quits well I guess then that's just it_

_And if my hands stop working you can call me lazy_

_And if I get pregnant I guess I'll just have the baby_

_Let it be loved let me be loved_

I've been trying to nod my head 

_But it's like I've got a broken neck_

_Wanting to say I will as my last testament_

_For me to be saved and you to be brave_

_We don't have to walk down that aisle_

_Cause if marriage ain't enough_

_Well at least we'll be loved_

_I've felt the wind on my cheek_

_Coming down from the east_

_And thought about how we are all_

_As numerous as leave on trees_

_And maybe ours is the cause of all mankind_

_Get loved, make more_

_Try to stay alive_

_I've been trying to nod my head_

_But it's like I've got a broken neck_

_Wanting to say I will as my last testament_

_For you to be saved and me to be brave_

_We don't have to walk down that aisle_

_Cause if marriage ain't enough_

_Well at least we'll be loved_

**-- "More Adventurous" Rilo Kiley**

**A/N; So… What did you think? Too fluffy, not fluffy enough..? I was alone on Valentine's day (anyone else?) so this was kind of me getting out my minor sexual frustrations out. I kind of despise this chapter, though, so any compliments or criticism of the constructive nature would be accepted with open arms. For the love of god, let me know, it gives me a reason to procrastinate my homework, so go ahead and review your little hearts out. Review more than once, if that's what you're in to… I'm just kiddin', enjoy, please and review if you want. By the way, if anyone wants the song "More Adventurous" for free just let me know and I'll send it to you via email.**

**But for now, I must go to bed, as I am extremely tired and it's 2:15 in the mornin' over here in the GB. Yeah, I just shortened Great Britain to GB. Also, if there are any mistakes, I apologize profusely, it's just _I _probably have bags under my eyes the size of Mexico, so go figure. So when I wake up… I wanna have AT LEAST one reviewer. ONLY JOKIN', just as long as I have people reading my story, I'll be happy. So, for that, thanks.**

**Now for some short notes to some wonderful people:**

**Electricxrain YAY! I made someone feel warm and fuzzy inside! Hah, weird. But anyway, please keep reviewing, it brings light into my life. (TOTALLY not sucking up here LOL) I hoped you enjoy… Wait a second, NO I _hope_ you enjoyed (sorry, really tired here) this chapter as much as you liked the others. I'm trying to fight the black cloud of writers block that's been looming overhead since Valentine's day, so let's hope this remains up to people's standards… 333**

**Iluvgarretthedlund You are just too damn clever, girl. How the hell do you do that? I hope this chapter pleased you LOL. 333**

**Dragon tears1 Here you are, here you are. I hope you enjoyed! 3333**

**Until next time,**

**Your Authoress and the most sadly single woman of the year…**

**HTFL**

**xxoxo**


	6. Broken Bones and Religious Groups

**Chapter 6: Fighting Broken Bones and Burning All Religious Groups**

An American journalist once wrote, "If a small thing has the power to make you angry, does that not indicate something about your size?" This quote came to my head when I was forcefully woken up by Jack sitting on me. And let me tell you, I don't care if he _did _invite me over to have dinner with his family last night. No amounts of kindness or singing or _anything _could make me forgive him for the 150 lb of bone taking their seat on my back. _NO AMOUNTS._

Needless to say, I was terrified at first, thinking I was paralyzed in the middle section of my body. But the terror soon faded and was replaced with burning anger. Anger that boiled up my spine before overflowing into my brain, causing me to become hot with rage.

"Jack," I muffled, trying to stay calm and continue to breathe regularly, my face still obscured by the surface of my mattress. "As much as I enjoy your ass coming in contact with any part of my body, and I'm almost positive, that you've successfully broken myback, I strongly advise that you get the hell off me before I do something drastic." Jack, a grown man, actually giggled and dug his bones deep into the curve of my lower back.

Sydney hissed at the stranger who was apparently trying to kill her beloved master, before darting off the bed to find some sort of safe haven for herself. _I knew I should've gotten a dog… _I turned my head around with some difficulty, considering I had a Jack on my back, and read the clock allowed, "8 in the morning?" I asked, whimpering. "You've woken me up at 8 o'clock in the morning, the day after Christmas by sitting on me. How'd you even get in here?"

Then I remembered that he was able to get in without a key yesterday. Great, I was gonna have to change my locks now.

"And you were being so pleasant last night. What the hell happened?" I managed to force out as I felt him roll off of me so that he was lying next to me on the bed.

With a flick of the hair, I turned my, still broken body to witness him getting under the sheets with me. His lips were curled into a smile. A nice smile that made me want to punch his face continuously. "You know, I saw you as the kind of girl that slept naked," he said, looking curiously under the covers at my white spaghetti strap shirt and his guitar-covered boxers, which I had still, conveniently forgotten to give back. Replacing the covers, he glared at me, scowling. I turned on my side to get a better look at him.

"No, no, my friend," I said, grinning sleepily, "Some things are better left to the imagination." I paused, looking down, pulling up the blankets again. "Or in your case –"

Jack spoke quickly, keeping me from continuing, "Yeah, I think we get the idea. By the way, that tattoo you have a Fender Guitar Pick is just about the hottest thing I've ever – OW!"

I took great joy in flicking him hard in between the eyes, before sighing with exasperation, "Did you break into my apartment and wake me up at 8 in the morning for any specific purpose, other than to assess my sleeping attire?"

He shrugged the shoulder that wasn't in contact of the bed. "Well, that was my main reasons for, yes, breaking into your apartment, drinking your last beer and having a scoop of your ice cream…"

"Oh no you did not!"

"But also because I wanted to invite you to come play a, um, 'pleasant' game of hockey with my brothers and I." He actually looked nervous in asking me, like he was worried that I was gonna turn him down. And I was. Going to turn him down, I mean, but not by any fault of mine.

I opened my mouth, trying to find the best way to answer without sounding like a complete Neanderthal. Shifting my eyes to the ceiling I said, "I… don't know how to skate." I looked uneasily back at Jack, who looked as though I'd just slapped him again. "Don't look at me like that," I said, defensively. It wasn't just an excuse, either; I really didn't know how to skate. As much as I wished that I could I –

"You'll be fine," Jack said, throwing the covers off of his body before climbing out of bed. He offered me his hand, "Come on."

Not even bothering to let him lift me up, I said, "But I just said, I can't skate," making sure that he heard me.

Jack continued to look cheerful, "Yeah, and I said, 'you'll be fine.'" He grabbed my hand and forcefully pulled me up and out of bed. I looked back at my warm and cozy bed with remorse, before looking back at Jack, who I could see was already on his way back to my kitchen, probably to suck me dry of some other product I was running low on.

"You better not eat the last of my Little Debbie cakes!" I called after him, heading to the bathroom. I winced as I heard the sound of plastic wrapping rustling in his direction.

"Growing boy's gotta eat!" He called back.

"Heartless fuckwit," I mumbled. Deciding it was a lost cause, I stepped into my bathroom to get ready to fall on my ass. Miserably.

XXXXXXX 

"But I can't _skate_," I said for about the hundred and second time that day. I was kicking at the snow with the blade on my left foot while Jack was lacing up the right. He didn't seem to take any notice of what I was saying, and just continued to pull the white laces around the small hooks… Back again… "Jack," I said, impatiently, trying to get his attention. "Jack, if you make me go out on that ice, I will die and then _you _will – Hey! Watch it!" I slapped his hand away and loosened the lace he'd been working on, rubbing my ankle with my gloved fingers as I tried to get the blood running through their veins again. I glared at him through the hair that was falling in my eyes.

Jack sighed in frustration, falling backwards into a cross-legged sitting position on the ground in front of me. "Well, if you quit moving your god damn feet around—"

"Don't you fucking curse at me, Jack Mercer," I said, pointing my finger at him as I leaned down from the wooden bench, to attempt to do up the skates by myself. It was difficult because the gloves I was wearing didn't leave much room for me to loop the laces around each other.

Hockey was never a sport that I had yearned to play. Sure, ice skating came into my mind when I was dancing in school, but it just looked so… dangerous. I mean, one false move and you could, a) hit your head, b) risk losing your fingers if someone skated too close, or c) bruise every inch of your body. Badly. But when I informed Jack of these three, very real, although I'll admit, slightly unlikely possibilities, he laughed at me, which made me slap him hard across the back of the head, making him laugh even harder.

I sat back up, surrendering as I crossed my arms across my chest, looking at Jack with my best 'fine, you do it' look. He leaned forward again and began to re-do what I'd undone. "I don't wanna do this…" I breathed airily.

"I can't believe you've never played ice hockey before – stop moving – let alone skated. I mean, surely ice skating would be something to try before you even attempt stripping or – Dylan, quit it," he said, starting to get annoyed.

I ruffled his hair, which was close to my knees, giggling like a fool. "Now, Jackie, no need to be jealous of one of my many talents. Speaking of, you should look into it, it would be good for your shape," I said, squeezing the muscle in his upper arm.

He snorted. "Ha, right. Now, for the love of God, stay still."

I leaned forward and wrapped my fingers around the edge of the bench, looking at the men already on the ice. I watched as the three older brothers, Bobby, Jeremiah, and Angel, all ran – well, skated – hard into one of the guys on the other team. I grimaced and looked back down at Jack who was still working on my skates.

It was the day after Christmas and somehow, although I don't recall how, Jack had convinced me to join them for the Mercer holiday traditional game of ice hockey. I'd been reluctant, considering I'd never been on ice skates in my life, and judging by the way Jack's brothers were playing, I'd made the right decision. Until now.

I knew about the Mercer's passion for hockey. Evelyn had told me about Bobby's love for the game, which began when he had just come to live with her. I remembered her telling me about how upset he was when the league had thrown him out for good. Although, I doubted that he'd shown it in front of anyone else. Except for her, of course. He definitely didn't look like the kind of person who would show any vulnerable emotions in front of anyone.

"All done," Jack said when he'd finished the other skate. He returned to his feet and offered his hand to me, which I took, hesitantly. It felt awkward walking on the blades beneath my feet, and the fact that my ankles kept on shaking probably didn't help either. "Now, the easiest way to do this is to go nice and slow," he said, pep talking me as we made our way to the ice. "Nice and slow," he repeated, slower as if I hadn't understood him the first time.

"That's easy for you to say, you've probably been doing this since you were 7, freak." I looked nervously down at the ice. "Are you sure this is safe?" I asked, poking the edge of the rink with the ridged toe of the skate. I could already see the state I was going to be once I actually got my ass out there. If I ever did get my ass out there. "I'm not gonna do this," I said, stepping back away from the edge, Jack still gripping my arm.

"Were you this stubborn as a child?" He asked, laughing shortly.

I giggled before saying, "Actually, no, I was an accountant," which got another laugh out of him.

I took my first step on the slippery surface and clutched tighter on to Jack, who held my arm securely, apparently not trusting my ankles either. Smart man. "You're gonna be fine, Dylan," he chuckled, before I swiftly had to grab onto his neck to keep myself from taking the plunge onto the white mass below. "I promise, the worst that could happen is that _Bobby _will tackle you, okay?" It sounded like he was struggling to keep me, as well as himself, upright.

Straining my muscles mercilessly, I tried to support myself without his help. Unsuccessfully, I might add. "Alright, but if _anyone _tackles me, it will be your pretty face that my skate is stuck in," I muttered, through gritted teeth.

He chuckled, making me look up from the skates my eyes had been glued to. I narrowed my eyes at him, suspiciously, "What's so funny, punk?"

Some hair fell in his eye as he looked down to make sure I was skating all right. "You called me pretty," he said, trying to hide the smirk on his face.

I raised my eyebrows at him. "Well, you are," I said, as I returned my eyes to the ice. "You're about as pretty as a flower…"

"Dylan…" he warned.

"Or a star…"

"You're gonna regret it if you carry on…"

I took the challenge, beginning to laugh, "Or a fairy, or – JACK!" I watched in horror as Jack let me go and began to skate away, leaving me stranded in the middle of the rink, desperately trying to keep my balance. "JACK, YOU FUCKER, GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!" I could feel my feet slipping out from under me and I heard the sounds of the hockey players approaching behind me. I looked back behind me and I saw a hoard of big, angry guys with sticks come right for me.

_Shit, piss, fuck…_

Just as I was about to fall on my ass and under the skates of about 8 heavy-weight hockey players, a pair of arms grabbed me under my armpits and pulled me back up to standing position, before dragging me out of the way of the hoard. I spun around, expecting it to be Jack. Instead, I found I was face to face with Bobby.

"Bobby!"

"Hey, you all right?" he asked, looking taken aback by the expression on my face. He held tightly onto my shoulders, keeping me steady.

I quickly changed my face to a relieved smile. "Yeah," I said, panting, heavily as I ran a hand through my knotted hair, wind-whipped. "I wish I could say the same about your little brother once I'm through with him, though…"

Bobby laughed, still gripping my shoulders. "Need some help getting to the side?" he asked me, putting his arm around my back and taking my left hand as he began to skate smoothly over to the corner edge of the rink.

"Thanks," I said, nodding. "I know it's probably hard to believe that I've never skated before but…"

He laughed at me again, "Yeah, especially since you grew up in Detroit," he said, smiling. I spotted Jack wearing, what appeared to be a smug look on the other side of the rink and stuck my tongue out at him.

"Hey, Jack!" Bobby shouted over the wind. "You gonna help your friend or are you gonna stand there touching yourself with a hockey stick up your ass?" We'd finally reached the edge and Bobby let go when he saw that I was gripping firmly onto the side panel of the corner, facing away from the noise of the players behind me. _Safety, oh, sweet, sweet safety! Praise the lord! _

Bobby leaned onto the panel next to me so he could look at the ground on the other side of the wall. "Sorry about Jack, he's just an idiot," he said, sounding sincere. I shifted my weight so I could see his wind-burned face. A black beanie was covering his black hair and the rest of his upper-body was covered up by the red and white hockey jersey and sweatshirt. Sweat was being expelled from his hairline into the stubble of his beard, even though the temperature outside was at least below 5ºF.

I shrugged, finally looking away from him, "You don't have to apologize. I already know he's an idiot." We both shared a laugh before there was a nice silence between us. Just taking each other in. I turned around to look at the massacre that was occurring near one of the goals, Jack right in the thick of it. I winced as some big guy knocked him to the ground before carrying on skating.

"It's actually not as violent as it looks," I heard Bobby say beside me.

I watched in horror as Angel and Jerry both decided to slam the guy with the puck into the metal, chain-linked wall. "Get it, man!" Jerry yelled, trying to make it seemingly difficult for the player to speak, let alone take the puck.

_Ugh, men._

"Seriously," he said, coughing, "It's not that bad."

I snorted. "Yeah, and the pope isn't – is that blood?"

Bobby quickly hid the patch of jersey that had been unintentionally dyed a dark red-brown color. I was still looking at with wide eyes when he started to speak again, "Look, it's more likely that you'll freeze to death than get tackled."

I shook my head, "No, no, the odds of being killed by freezing to death is something like 1 in a 3 million. And, Bobby, I think that your brothers sincerely surpassed those odds awhile ago." When he looked at me with an odd expression on his face, I quickly explained, "I'm an aficionado in the knowledge of statistics. Useless ones."

He smiled widely at me, before we simultaneously turned our eyes back to the game to see Jack skating over to us.

"You gonna be okay?" Bobby asked, holding onto the panel with both of his gloved hands. He was looking at me, but I could see that he was looking anxiously at the game that continued to go on without him, out of the corner of his eye.

I smiled genuinely at him, nodding, "Yeah, I'll be fine. Thanks," I said again. "Go on, I'll be fine." I nudged his shoulder with mine, good-naturedly.

Nodding, he patted me on the back before returning to the game, his place soon being taken over by Jack. He sighed. "Maybe ice skating isn't for you," he said, putting his arm around my shoulders, in a mock buddy-buddy fashion as we watched the match. But I knew men better than that.

I knew him better than that.

I rolled my eyes and slipped out from under his arm, starting to carefully edge my way back to the rink entrance by pulling my skates smoothly across the ice, running my hands along the white-painted wood. "You're just jealous because you didn't get to save the damsel in distress this time," I said.

"Jealous of _him_?" he exclaimed, loudly, sounding offended.

I laughed at his outburst, which amazingly caused me to plummet to the ice while still holding onto the wall, a move that could only have been achieved by me. Damn, and I was trying to be so cool…

"You laugh, you die," I grunted, trying to pull myself back into standing position but my feet kept slipping out from under me, even as I tried to dig my toe deep into the surface under my body, without any success whatsoever.

"Need some help?" Jack, who I could tell was trying not to laugh, asked from behind me. He skated next to me and offered me his hand for the second time that day. Grudgingly, I took it and persisted to try and stand. I could tell that Jack was continuing to enjoy this as he spoke again, "Look, it's a lot easier if you do this," he maneuvered around so that his feet were in front of mine. He offered me another gloved hand, which I also took, as he pulled me up to my feet.

We were close. Really close. Almost as close as we'd been the night before, when he held me in the hospital. The cool winds blew around us, and I knew I should've been cold, considering the jacket I was wearing was just about as pathetic as my ice skating skills, but I could feel his warmth radiating off of him. So much so, that I could almost see it. I looked up at him, still keeping our bodies close, our hands still gripping one another. I felt safer in his arms than I ever had with anyone else in my entire life. Even Michael. Though, I hated myself for thinking it, I couldn't help it. And I would definitely never admit it to anyone. I half smiled, hoping the thoughts spinning around head would disappear and be replaced with ones that made me feel less shamefaced. I hoped, wished, and prayed.

Finally, Jack was the one who pulled away first, looking uncomfortable, yet he still kept a firm grasp on my right hand. "Come on," he said, stringing me along by my hand.

Neither of us spoke until we reached the exit of the rink. "I told you I couldn't skate," I mumbled, carefully stepping onto the land again. It was the oddest feeling, the transition from going from the ice to the land again, it was almost like walking for the first time. Not that I could really remember my first steps. Not that I _wanted _to remember my first steps. Kind of like the rest of my childhood.

"Yeah, yeah," Jack grumbled under his breath.

He helped me back to the beloved bench and I sat down, outstretching my legs, as I grinned like an idiot up at him. Jack, getting the hint, knelt before me and had the first one off within seconds. "Man my feet kill…" I said, hoping he would get it. I could tell he did but I decided to clarify, "How 'bout a foot massage?" I asked, wiggling my toes inside my socks as I looked down at him from my seat.

Jack snorted, "I'd rather make out with Bobby."

XXXXXXXXXX 

"You look tired."

"And _you're_ not as stupid as you look," I rolled my eyes, exhaling. Jack had offered to walk me home after the skating incident and we were walking down some boulevard on the way back to my house. Snow was falling again and it tickled my skin and eyelashes and the snow beneath my shoes crunched beneath my feet. It was cold, but I would be the last person to admit it, even though it was blatantly obvious that I was shivering.

I could tell he was watching me, but I kept myself from turning around to look at him. That showed vulnerability. That showed no self-control. "You look cold," he said in a low voice.

I stopped and spun towards the curb to face him. "Jack, I don't need a running commentary of what I look like." I slowly turned back to sidewalk in front of me.

The sun was setting, making the buildings and streets we walked glow gold. The sidewalk sparkled under our shoes. So much so that my eyes almost stung when I looked down. I was amazed that, even in the thick of winter, the sky still managed to retreat from its daylight grey color, to such stunning pastel pinks, blues, purples, and oranges.

It was the second sunset that Jack and I had seen together.

Neither of us said anything for a few blocks. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore, "Jack?" I asked, pensively lighting the cigarette that I had gotten out a couple blocks back, but I had been struggling to retrieve the lighter from my back pocket. My hair was blowing all around my face, making it hard for me to see and made me fear that my hair would catch fire if I wasn't careful.

He looked at me when I spoke his name, expectantly and I could see that his eyes were bloodshot and teary from the cold. He continued to blink at me, expecting me to continue while I checked the tip of my cigarette to see if it was lit properly. It wasn't and I took the flame to it again. I was trying to be as casual as I possibly could when asking the question I was working up the nerve to ask. The timing had to be right. No, the timing had to be perfect, and now seemed like a better time than any. "When you said yesterday," I began, feeling out of breath, and I walked slightly closer to him. I kept my hand close to his without touching it. Just the warmth was comforting enough. "That your mom was right about me. Well, what did you mean by that?" I laughed nervously. I knew he didn't feel comfortable talking about Evelyn and I was crossing over into dark and dangerous waters by touching on the subject, but I just had to know. I hesitated before continuing, "I mean, when did Evelyn ever talk about me?" I finished the question off hastily, looking down at my feet, my eyes burning from the diamonds in the concrete.

Jack laughed shortly and I felt him tense up as I edged closer to his walking form. He was silent for a long time and I felt bad for even putting the matter back on the table, but it had been nagging at my brain for the past day since Jack had said it back in the hospital. I rotated my head so I could see his facial expression.

His fallen eyes were almost too scared to even consider answering me, like talking about Evelyn might show some sort of disrespect towards her memory. He looked more like a little boy than I had ever seen him. And for some reason, that scared me too. Terrified me, actually.

At last, he spoke, "Mom talked about you every time I came home. She'd always wanted us to meet. 'Seemed to think we'd really get along." There was another brief silence between us, until we both doubled over laughing. "If only she knew," he said, taking a drag on his cigarette. I did the same, still keeping my eyes on his face.

I looked down between us and watched as our fingers laced together, almost unconsciously. I shifted my eyes back up at Jack, who was looking at the ground again, the trace of a smile on his lips. His touch was soothing, and I found myself struggling to stay awake, even though we were walking, since the few hours of sleep I'd gotten the night before certainly weren't paying off.

"Tell me about your band," I said, trying to distract him from the painful memories that I could tell were still hovering in his mind, as well as keep my own mind off the temptation of lying down and sleeping. Our hands were still playing between us as I closed my eyes, letting him guide me. I hadn't felt this comfortable with someone in a long time.

Jack cleared his throat. "We're, um, called the Salvation of Judas."

I snorted, "And, how many religious groups have burned your album so far?"

A pause.

"Three," he said, sounding guilty. I cracked up, opening my eyes. "But the Beatles had like, _all _the religious groups against them, and look how famous they became!" he said, defensively, as though he thought I was going to go on a religious rampage.

"Are you daring to compare your band to the legends that are the Beatles?" I inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"No, I'm just sayin'," he shrugged. "And it's not like I'm comparing myself to Sid Vicious or anything," he added, shortly.

I nodded my approval, taking some quick drags on my cigarette to keep myself from laughing. "Alright, so what kinda shit do you play?" I asked, gesturing for him to continue.

He shrugged, closing his eyes, deep in thought, "Kind of punk rocky slash a genre that's never been touched upon."

I giggled. "You should star playing Christian rock to get on the good side of the church and Jesus freaks." I laughed at the mental image of Jack singing songs of praise in front of a bunch of lighter waving idiots.

He squeezed my hand and my stomach fluttered as my mind was brought back to our joined hands. "Would you forget about the religious groups, already?" he exclaimed, throwing the other hand up in the air.

"What? It worked for Creed!" I said, throwing down my cigarette and subtly stepping on it as we walked past. My right hand placed itself lightly over our intertwined hands, allowing me to take a deep lungful of his natural scent. I wanted to remember this moment forever. I wanted to remember this sunset forever. Until the day I die. Whether it be in a few days, a few years, or in my ripe, old age, I wanted to remember Jack Mercer, son of Evelyn eternally.

We'd reached my building and I let go of his hand to unlock the front door. When I wasn't able to unlock it right away, Jack leaned in next to me. "Need some help there, Nancy?"

I sneered as the lock finally clicked and the door swung open, "You're a pain in the ass, Sid."

We entered the dimly lit hallway and made our way to my apartment, still playfully mocking each other. I turned around to face his grinning face, "But you still love me."

I shook my head, laughing as I felt my back hit the door, "Tool." I expect him to carry on, but instead he was looking over my shoulder, a perplexed expression on his face. "What?" I asked, looking at him with confusion.

Without moving his eyes, he pointed to the spot right next to my head.

Furrowing my eyebrow, I turned around.

The words: **EVICTION NOTICE, **slapped me in the face.

A/N: Again, the last section of this wasn't properly proofread because I'm tired. Yet again. But my God, this really becomes an obsession, doesn't it? It's like I can't stop writing. Even if I'm out of ideas of what to write, my fingers still itch to write. That's probably why this chapter sounds like I'm digging deep for ideas, when what I'm really trying to do is get from point A to point B without rushing it. I already have the whole story mapped out, but it is an ever-changing map, which is becoming ridiculous. Anyway, I'm babbling (kind of like what this chapter was, ie. mindless drivel). Truth be told, this is a pretty pathetic chapter, as chapters go, so please don't hate me. Now for something interesting: Review replies:

**Electricxrain – lol. Yes! Someone who also talks to their cat like I do! I'm glad that you have an image of what Dylan should look like, 'cause right now, the only image I have of her is in my head. If I was at all artistic I would be able to draw her, but for now, just stick to Lisa. The only actress I could think of that comes remotely close to her is Mary Elizabeth Winstead when she has really dark hair. She's around Dylan's age but I imagine Dylan with paler skin. Check her out if you're interested. But I don't wanna ruin your own individual image of her. Kind of like what Daniel Radcliffe did with Harry Potter. Don't get me wrong, I love Daniel Radcliffe, but he just kind of destroyed my image of the character, which I think is the best thing about reading. Also, can I just say, that you offering to help me with my writer's block is possibly the nicest thing anyone I've never met has done for me, and I will definitely ask for your help if it ever gets unbearable. And I will also do the same if you're ever in need of guidance or _anything_ for that matter, just email me at I'd be more than happy to help. PS, was Zathura good? My friend's little sister said it was scary, but then again, she is only 13, so go figure.**

**Embry – Thank you! I hope you enjoyed this one as well!**

**AngWasHere – Thanks! I was worried, because too much fluff can be annoying, but thank you for the reassurance. And… I hope that you enjoyed the return of the guitar-covered boxers… **

**Dragontears1 – I'm glad I wasn't alone in being alone on Valentine's day. I swear, it was a holiday invented by Satan to make all who are alone on that specific day want to kill every single couple they see. Including their parents. Ah, well, someday we won't be so alone… You know, when we're married. I'm kidding. It makes me so happy that you're enjoying my story, you have no idea, and I hope that I'm going on the path that you want. There are a lot of paths, you know. Hope to hear from you soon!**

**Iluvgarrethedlund – Ooooh, close, m'dear, close, but no cigars this time. And I swear I didn't do it just to spite you. I promise. Possibly next chapter though… We shall see… **

**BongoBaby – Don't be sad! I hear that having a date on Valentine's day is WAY over-rated. But then again, the people who told me didn't have dates themselves so… Believe me, I'll bet your V-day was more eventful than mine. Mine consisted of me singing the entirety of "My Humps" by the Black Eyed Peas (one of my many talents) to a kid who was a year younger than me. Certainly, not your normal, everyday holiday, I have to admit. Hope to hear from you again soon!**


	7. Crash Into Me

**Chapter 7: Crash Into Me**

"How does that look?" I asked, swiveling around in my squatting position in front of the wooden table to face him. He looked up from the box he was unpacking and grinned at the position of the vase I'd been adjusting and readjusting for the past hour. "Well?"

"_Yeah, it looks great," he nodded, getting up from the cardboard box, labeled "Box of Shit," in front of him to kneel down next to me to get a closer look. Putting a hand on my heavily sweating neck, he whispered into my hair, "But you've been working on that vase for a whole 2 hours and you still have the rest of the box to unpack."_

_I sneered at him. "First of all, it's only been about 1 hour." I placed my hand on the varnished surface of the wooden table, pulling myself up to a standing position. "Second of all, this vase is the center of the room so it needs to be perfect." I gestured to the now perfectly centered vase as though it was on display in a museum._

_I gave the room a once-over, mentally making a note of where to put things when they were unpacked, before turning back to face him._

_He was smiling at me, "Since when did you become high maintenance?"_

"_What're you talking about? This girl has always been tightly strung," I replied, throwing my arms around his neck so I could kiss his nose, a grin spread across my face._

_This apartment had been ours for only a few hours, and yet it already began to feel like home. Actually, this_ was_ my home. I'd never felt more at home anywhere else. I was able to imagine myself here in the next ten, twenty years, children trailing along under our feet, a dog waiting by the door to be walked, Sydney, lying in the sunlight of the window, relishing in the warmth. I could see us waking up everyday and having breakfast in bed on a wooden bed and catalog-ordered, white sheets. This was the beginning of our life together. Our perfect life together. And we weren't even married yet. _

_Shaking his head, he rubbed his palms along the back fabric of my tank top. "And I'm sure that this is the same girl who could barely move around in her room, on account of there being too much stuff on the floor?" _

_I let out an over-exaggerated sigh, letting my arms drop to my hips. "You just have to ruin every moment don't you, Michael?" I wrinkled my nose, just for effect._

"_Hey, that's Professor Turner to you," he smiled, pointing a mocking finger at my face. _

"_Of course, how could I forget?" I shrugged, returning to the box that I had abandoned and pulled out another more extravagant, yet ugly, purple vase. "How did _you_ get away with keeping this disgusting excuse for a room accessory and we ended up throwing away about half of my, might I add much nicer decorations?"_

_Without looking up from the photo album he was flipping through – most likely pictures of me as a baby, knowing my luck – Michael replied, "Because, honey, that's your nauseating excuse for a room accessory."_

"_Actually the word I used was 'disgusting,'" I muttered under my breath, as I re-wrapped the vase and carefully and noiselessly put it back in its box. That could just go in storage until it came back in fashion. You know, when hell is frozen over, and the first woman is proven wrong._

_It was quiet in the room except for the rustling of the grey packing paper and the creaking of the floorboards under our feet. "This place better be ready for when your brother comes to dinner on Thursday or else I'm withholding sex again," I said, looking over at the back of neck, where his brown curls met with his skin. He turned to face me and caught me staring. _

_He grinned, "You wouldn't dare…"_

"_I've done it before and I can do it again," I answered, nonchalantly, trying to hide the smile with my hair as I looked down at the pictures inside the frames in my hands. I heard him get up from the floor, smiling more widely as I felt his arms wrap around my waist from behind. "You're wasting your time here," I sang, trying to ignore his touch._

"_It'll be done," he said into my hair, causing goosebumps to form along my lower arms._

_I dropped the frames into the wadded up paper below and turned around, returning my hands to his neck. I shook my head, "Well, if we keep going on like this, I'm not so sure it will be." _

_Michael kissed my lips. "I'll work on the vases, you unpack the DVD collection," he mumbled slowly against them. _

"_You're impossible, Professor Turner," I murmured in return, pressing his face harder against mine before pulling away and making my way over to the mess of DVDs in the corner. "Should I alphabetize too?" I asked, picking up Shindler's List and placing it at the end of the shelf before me._

"_You get an A for in high maintenance, Ms. Harrison, I'll give ya that."_

_I winced as I heard the sound of glass shattering on the wooden floor._

**XXXXXXX**

I ran the fingers of my left hand along the sharp edge of the piece of paper in front of me, praying that it wasn't real. I tried to see past the dark printed words, yet they all I could focus my eyes on. My back began to hurt from leaning so far over the kitchen counter so that my head was just above the notice, but I made no attempt to move. The fingers on my right hand held a cigarette between them, which was slowly burning towards the low ceiling. I looked around at the apartment. It definitely wasn't anything special and frankly, I would be glad to leave. But where was I supposed to go? I winced as the paper sliced through the skin of my fingerprint and I quickly threw the wound in my mouth.

Where the hell was Jack? He'd stormed off more than two hours ago to go and confront Budd about the matter. It was a lost cause, though. I mean, I'm sure lots of people lose their free housing everyday and no one even bats an eye.

"Hey."

I spun around to find Jack standing in the doorframe. He was panting heavily through a bleeding lip and his right eye bore the beginnings of a black one. _Shit._ I'd completely forgot about Spyder's bouncers. He looked almost as bad as he had when he'd come into the hospital with a bullet in his shoulder, except his face was more flushed than it had been that day. Did he run here?

"Jack, my God," I breathed. Without even stopping to think, I threw my half gone cigarette in the sink, grabbed his arm roughly and pulled into the bathroom where he sat down on the toilet seat, instinctively. I knelt down and started to dig through the cupboard under the sink for the alcohol, Neosporin and cotton balls.

"It's really not that bad, Dylan," Jack said, but the swelling in his lip made the statement somewhat less than convincing. "You're making this way more than it is."

I silenced him with a wave of the hand.

The bouncers at Spyder were nice guys, if you were a nice guy. Or girl. But I could see the scene go down in front of my eyes as I dug around for the first aid. Jack would run in there, raising up hell about me, and he'd try and throw in some punches as Greg, the main bouncer tried to drag him out. It happened every week to angry boyfriends and such, but I never thought it would ever happen on account of me.

My hand made contact with the first aid kit and I dragged it out of the cupboard, knocking over some old shampoo bottles with it. I snuck a glance at Jack, who was staring at the tiled floor, his bruised eye twitching every time he blinked. He looked wearily at the liquid I was squirting onto the white cotton ball. "So," I said, trying to divert his mind. "Did you at least get some blows in?"

Jack chuckled, drawing his hand to the blood on his lip. "You know I did," he said, and I nodded, a doubtful expression on my face.

I placed my hand on his face to steady his head. His facial features were screwed up in anticipation of the sting of the rubbing alcohol. "To tell you the truth, I've had worse from Bobby," he added.

Raising my eyebrows I touched the cotton to his lip, making him wince subtly with pain.

"Don't be a pussy," I sighed, as he pulled away slightly.

"I'm not being a pussy," he straightened up on the lid and braced himself again. He didn't speak again for a few moments, just sat as still and as natural as he possibly could without revealing the pain he was in. Finally he said, "Budd's really sorry about… well, about everything."

I stood up, leaning over the sink to throw out the dirty cotton before retrieving another from the plastic bag. "Whatever, I'm over it," I said, shrugging.

And it wasn't a lie, either. Or maybe it was. Maybe this was better for me. Now, figuring out what I was going to do was another story. I had to be out of here within the week. Yet, again I was proposed with the problem of being homeless. And jobless, for that matter.

Jack sounded doubtful, "Yeah, and I'm sure you have a grand plan of where you're gonna live after the week's over, too."

I let out a sound of frustration. "Don't be a bitch, Jack. Just because you got the shit kicked out of you—"

"—I did _not _get the shit kicked out of me!"

"—I didn't ask you to go over there so don't complain. I don't have to be gentle when disinfecting you," I snapped at him, slapping another cotton ball on his lip. This time he cried out in shock and pain, making me smirk.

He was silent again as he began to get used to the sting. "What're you gonna do?" he asked, trying not to sound concerned, but I could hear it in his voice as though I was saying it myself.

I threw the second cotton ball in the trash and reached for the Neosporin, thinking hard about how to answer his question. There's not a lot I _could _do. I didn't even have an inkling of where to go or what to do. I didn't have any qualifications except for my music, which was hard enough to break into as it was; I didn't have enough money to start college now, and even if I did, where would I be able to get in? I was a walking lost cause.

"Look." The sound of Jack's voice startled me, causing me squeeze the tube of Neosporin too hard and a stream of white cream to end up on the bathroom floor. "Sorry," Jack spoke again, trying not to laugh. He ripped off a long strip of toilet paper from the roll and handed it to me before continuing, "Why don't you come live with me and my brothers for a while. It doesn't have to be forever, just until you get… What?"

I shook my head, wiping up the mess on the floor. "What'd you mean, what?" I said, looking up from the tiles to rest my eyes on his face. "Jack, you can't possibly be asking me that with a straight face." I was trying to make him see sense in his words, as per usual. _God, I hope I'm not gonna be doing this for the rest of my life…_

"Why not?" he said, standing up so that I had to crane my neck skyward to look at him.

Standing up so that I was at least a little bit closer to his face, I said, "Because it's rude," I began to count on my fingers, pulling each one back as I made each point. "Two, because Bobby would beat your ass if another girl came to live in that house—"

"Sofi hardly counts as a girl," Jack interrupted, grinning.

"Three," I bent back another finger, "because I have another week left here and who's to say that I won't find another place to live by next week?"

Jack shook his head in doubt. "The chances of _you _finding another place to live are like a million to nothing." He sat back down on the toilet lid again, looking tired. "And also, don't worry about Bobby. He likes you." He shrugged, "More than he likes Sofi, anyway."

I cracked a smile, dabbing a drop of the remaining cream onto my finger. "Okay, fine," I gave in. "But if either of your brothers object—"

"You'll be the first to know." He paused, looking at the cream on my finger. "Are you gonna apply that or do I need to slip twenty bucks into your g-string?"

"Shut your goddamn mouth."

**XXXXXXXX**

"It's weird," I said, slowly shifting my weight on the sofa cushions from a sitting to a lying down position, my head propped up on one arm. "I would've thought this would be more fun."

Angel grunted, "Yeah, well compared to what we're doing, I'm sure it's paradise." He groaned as he hoisted the couch up higher in his muscled arms.

I gave him the finger from my position on the pillows as I turned over onto my front, watching the slowly moving surroundings of my short-lived apartment.

The initial shock of being evicted had worn off during the past two days. Budd's "difficult" decision to fire me as well as kick me out of my rentless house was out of the fear of being prosecuted if word got out that I'd had a seizure while I was working. I wasn't exactly heartbroken about the whole idea of having no job and nowhere to live, mainly because I'd been through worse. And not only that but Jack had been able to convince Bobby to let me stay with them. At least 'til I was able to get back on my feet, which was something I hadn't done in a long time.

I turned over onto my side again as I heard a sigh of irritation coming from the behind opposite arm of the couch. "Do you think you could quit moving, Dylan? It's already hard enough to carry this thing _without_ you sitting on it," Bobby whined, breathing heavily.

"Chill out, Bobby," Jerry said from his position in the kitchen. "You'll make her go anorexic or somethin'."

Sighing, I continued in an airy tone of voice, "Don't worry, Jerry, it didn't even cross my mind that he was making a slur against my weight." I paused, pretending to think, "But then, with boys like Bobby, you never can be sure…"

Bobby made a noise that sounded like a groan of pain and annoyance. "Shut up, you knew what I meant," he said.

"Do I?" I asked, sitting up to look at him, innocently, causing more groans from either sides of the couch.

He raised his eyebrows, "Yeah, I'm pretty sure ya do."

I shrugged, pouting, "Well, please, Bobby, please feel free to explain it to me. I'm only a simple girl, after all…"

"That shouldn't be necessary," Bobby said, still struggling to keep the couch steady, more for his own benefit than mine. "Let's not forget that you're coming to live in _my _house…"

Exhaling, I flopped back down on the couch as hard as I could. "There's a little thing called common courtesy towards a lady, boys" I said, looking up at the ceiling. We'd barely made it 6 feet since I last spoke. Jack was packing boxes in the bedroom since he was still recovering from his wound from a month ago. Plus, even if he was healthy, Angel and Bobby still would've been the strongest brothers of the bunch. Much to his dismay. And their's. Jerry was standing in the kitchen area wrapping up the plates I had spent ages unwrapping just under a month ago.

A snort from Angel's side, "There's also a little thing called walking."

"Fine. Pussies," I retorted, jumping down from the couch, causing them both to grunt again in sync with each other. "I'm gonna go see what the other Stooge is reeking havoc on."

Bobby laughed, "Yeah, make sure he's not stealin' any of your underwear!"

I could hear the faint sound of strings being plucked at as I wandered into the bedroom, leaning my shoulder against the doorframe when I saw Jack's back facing me, my guitar in his hands. He was playing it lightly, as though he was making sure nobody was able to hear him.

But I could hear him, and I couldn't help but smile: he was playing Dave Matthew's "Crash Into Me," singing the words softly under his breath so that I had to strain my ears to hear him.

He stopped when he realized that there were no longer voices coming from the living room/kitchen and turned around. "Hi," he said, simply, a surprised look on his slowly reddening face.

I could tell he was embarrassed that I'd been listening so I said, "Aren't you gonna play the rest?" I approached the bed slowly, rubbing my bare arms with the palms of my hands, trying to rid them of cold.

"Maybe another time," he said, seriously, putting the guitar back in its case. I looked around the room at the all the boxes he'd packed and I had to hand it to him, I couldn't have done better myself. Everything was packed away and every box was labeled. I opened the top drawer of my dresser.

"I see you took the liberty of packing my unmentionables," I said, smirking as he closed the guitar case with 4 loud snaps.

Jack got up and stood next to me, looking down at the box that was clearly labeled "Unmentionables," smiling, slyly. "You didn't think I'd leave those out did you? Especially that little lacy number from Victoria's Secret."

Slapping his arm, I laughed. I leaned down to pick up Sydney who'd been scratching at my leg for the past few minutes, trying to get my attention. "Yeah, well at least we know that one of us was having sex at some point. As for the other party…"

He gasped in mock astonishment, "I'll have you know I've had plenty of sex with a considerable amount of partners. Most of them, exceptionally hot."

"Most of them?" I asked, wiggling my eyebrows at him.

His hand rubbed the back of his neck, nervous about the subject, "Well, you know the ones that weren't so hot sure looked it after a certain amount of drinks." I giggled. "What's so funny?"

I shrugged turning away from him to look in my closet to see if he'd left anything behind. "Oh nothing, really," I said, still giggling, "It's just, at the club we had a little saying you might find appropriate for your particular situation."

"Which was?"

Turning around, I grinned at him, trying to hold back the laughter in my lungs, "It goes, 'If a girl has a pierced tongue, she'll probably suck your dick,'" He nodded, letting me know I could continue. I would've continued anyway. "'If a _guy _has a pierced tongue, he'll probably suck your—"

"OKAY, let's go pack up that bathroom of yours!" he said, dragging me sharply out of the room by my shoulder.

XXXXXX 

I stepped back, surveying the room in front of me. Bobby had given me Evelyn's room, the room, which he had been sleeping in for the past month since he came back to Detroit for the funeral. This was her room. This was Evelyn's room. The room where she'd think about ways to make the world a better place for kids who didn't deserve the situation they were in. The room where countless children had run in whenever they'd had a nightmare. The room where she would brush her hair while she waited for the social worker to bring another son or daughter into her life. The place where she spent her last night alive. Plants hung in the window, necklaces and beads hung from the dressing table. In all its simplicity, it was beautiful. Like she was.

Something brushed against my right shoulder and was silent as it stood next to me. I didn't take my eyes off the room. Every corner, every inch of the carpeted floor, every piece of the dull colored wall paper… to me they were Evelyn Mercer. And I wanted it to be burnt into my mind for the rest of my life. I was infatuated with this room. It was almost as motherly and comforting as she had been.

A hand clutched at mine and wrapped its fingers around my knuckles. I knew those hands as well as I knew my own, although I had only held them twice before.

"It's weird, isn't it?" Jack said, his voice going as low as it could possibly go without being inaudible, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up as I shivered on the inside.

I dropped the suitcase in my other hand at my feet. I still hadn't taken that one final step out of the hallway and into the bedroom I'd been staring at for the past few minutes. I knew this doorframe was just like any other I had seen before, but I felt too insignificant to step through its wooden threshold. It made my brain hurt in a way that I never thought was possible and the throbbing didn't seem to cease, even as I stepped inside.

Jack had his arm around my waist as he led me into his mother's room, kicking the suitcase with his feet as we entered. "You're gonna have to get used to it at some point," he said. I nodded, feeling tears stinging at my eyes.

I could feel the dam that had been holding back the floods of my own emotions break down completely, as I slowly turned to Jack on the tips of my toes and gently kissed him on the mouth. After a month of dancing around it, I had finally done it. I felt my legs shake underneath the torso that was surrounded by his hands, even though the touch was only as soft and as gentle as our hands were whenever they touched one another. A tear escaped from the incarceration of my eye and it rolled down my cheek freely as I pulled away from the place where our lips met.

I looked down at my feet, wiping the tear away subtly. I was surprised to find I wasn't guilt ridden. Maybe this was what was supposed to happen. It definitely hadn't felt wrong, and I found I was smiling softly when I looked back up at his face, which displayed an expression of similar proportions.

"Thank you for everything," I said. My lips, which were still quivering from the kiss, were unable to do anything else but smile.

He merely nodded before pulling me into a tight hug.

XXXXXXXX

**A/N: Whoo! Finally some blatant sexual contact between them! I was gonna put it off for another chapter or two but then I thought, nah I've tortured them enough. That was a present to you guys as well as myself, because it's my birthday on March 2nd. 17! Hurrah! And they thought I wouldn't make it to my 5th birthday… Ha, fools… **

**I can't believe this story has come this far! All your reviews make me want to continue every single day. Even if they're just a few of you reviewing, the number of hits on this story, wow, blows my mind everyday. Thank you to everyone who's been reading or just started reading and has come back to see how it's gonna end up!**

**This is gonna sound really odd, but I swear it's just out of pure interest I have four questions:**

**1.What makes you want to read a fic? Is it the summary, the amount of words, the amount of reviews, etc.?**

**2. Do you like the length of the chapters or should I be making them longer? I try to make them at least 10 pages or longer, except for the first two, which were just under. It all really depends on the mood I'm in.**

**3. Do you guys like the flashback scenes? They're kind of more for my benefit and mind, but I pray that you guys like them for the reason that they go deeper into Dylan's character and past. **

**And 4. Is this moving too fast? I've been trying to decide if maybe the chapters should be shorter and the content should take one scene at a time. I don't know, so please help me out. I really want to do everything in my power to make this story the best that it can be. **

**Please, let me know.**

**Lastly, I'm sorry that this chapter is kind of a disappointment compared to the other ones but it was a kind of spur of the moment thing, so please review and I promise that next chapter will be better. A lot better. In fact, I've been looking forward to writing it for quite some time and it should definitely be posted by Monday at the latest. Coursework deadlines are looming…. Damn.**

**Now for the important part:**

**Electricxrain – Hey, how'd the talent show go? What did you sing? I know exactly how you feel with the whole sore-throat thing. Every time I have to get up on stage I get this massive phlegm stream in my throat. And then I'm kicking myself for getting cheese at the salad bar at lunch… Yeah, anyway, I hope it went amazing, which I'm sure it did! Also, I just wanted to thank you eternally for all the reviews you've ever left me. I'm not sucking up, I just wanted to let you know that they always mean a lot. So again, thank you. Also, if you don't update "Tip the Scales" I am going to have to whip you. And not in the pleasant kinky way, either…. Until next time… MWAHAHAHA.**

**Embry – Thank you! And thanks for coming back! **

**Iluvgarrethedlund -- …….. GAH! .tackles. We seriously must be on the same wavelength. From across an ocean we are on the exact same wavelength and it's freakin' me out! Thank you though, your reviews mean a lot, and I hope you're enjoying the story even though you're able to predict what's gonna happen! I hope you enjoyed this one.**

**SlythPrincess – Thank you so much for your review! It made me smile from ear to ear. I haven't read your story yet but I promise I will as soon as I post this! Hope I hear from you again!**

**Arwen1982 (Lisa) – Thanks! I'm glad you're enjoying it so far! Review again soon!**


	8. The Salvation of Jack Mercer

**Chapter 8: The Salvation of Jack Mercer**

"_GIRL… YOU REALLY GOT ME GOIN, YOU GOT ME SO I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M DOIN'… YEAH… YOU REALLY GOT ME NOW. YOU GOT ME SO I CAN'T SLEEP AT NIGHT…"_

My eyes snapped open. "What the hell?" I said loudly, looking at the blazing red numbers of the clock, which clearly bore the numbers 7:00 AM. "OH FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, JACK!" I shouted, banging my fist against the bedroom wall, behind which the singing was coming from. And the frustrating thing was, this had been the third morning in a row.

It had only been two days since I'd moved into the Mercer's house, yet it felt like it had been more like two months. Here are some things I discovered within my first two days of living with the brothers in their residence:

First. Bobby hides guns in every single drawer and cupboard of the kitchen. I found this out when I reached my hand into the top cupboard to get a clean coffee mug, only to end up pulling out a .38 caliber. A **loaded** .38 caliber. Needless to say, I was terrified out of my wits and no longer needed the coffee.

Second. Angel and Sofi have sex. A lot. Loudly. And in the critical hours of other people's sleep too. No matter where the hell in the house you are, you can't get away from the banging. Oh, God, the banging! Note to self: Buy Angel a new bed for Christmas.

Third. The fridge hasn't contained a single speck of food in God knows how long. Well, actually, that's not true. There were some… somethings, lurking around the back of the vegetable drawer. When I asked Jack what he and his brothers ate on a daily basis, he just said they'd order in. And so, I've been living off leftover Chinese food for the past 2 days.

Fourth. The brothers never, and I repeat, _never_ shut the bathroom door. It's almost like they've lost all their limbs and are unable to kick the door shut. But, nay, they don't close it because none of them have a conscience. In fact, all of their consciences put together wouldn't even make up a full one. And let me tell you, I'd rather pull a dead body out of the coffee mug cupboard than to ever see Bobby Mercer taking a dump again. It makes me want to gouge my own eyes out and then lobotomize myself so I wouldn't be able to remember the sights I'd seen.

Fifth. Jack sings when he pees. And it's not even a pleasant kind of singing, it's more like an, "I don't want anyone else to hear me taking a piss, so I'm gonna drown the sound out with my beautiful voice." Except, it's not beautiful. Actually, it's a horrifying noise to wake up to in the middle of the night. As well as in the morning. Thus, my dilemma.

I dreaded to find out what else I wasn't seeing. Or hearing. Or smelling.

The fifth discovery had proposed a problem ever since my first morning there, when I was woken up by "Walk This Way", and the morning after had been, "Dead Flowers". Don't get me wrong, I have no problem with Aeorsmith _or _The Rolling Stones, but there was a thin wall between Evelyn's room and the bathroom from which the sounds were coming from, and there was an increasingly thinner line between sanity and insanity, and I could tell that I was on the verge of crossing it.

It wasn't so much the fact that he was singing… Well, okay, yeah it was, but it was also the fact that he was choosing every song and any song that were heavy metal. And today, he'd chosen the most heavy metal Kinks song there was. At 7 in the morning. When it was still dark outside.

Throwing the duvet off my bare legs, I groaned as I rolled out of bed. I hurled the bedroom door open and took the two steps to the next door, before hearing a flush. The singing, however, continued. I was trying to put on my best good-natured smile when the door was opened to reveal Jack._ What a surprise. _

"Jack…" I said, trying to keep the smile plastered on my face and the anger out of my tired voice. "You know yesterday when I said if I was ever woken up to your singing again I would rip out your trachea and make you eat it?"

He looked amused, rubbing his chin as he pretended to think deeply. "I gotta say, I vaguely remember something along those lines…"

I suddenly became aware of how little clothing I was wearing and I wrapped my arms around myself. Jack smirked, knowing what I was thinking, which made me realize his bare chest… "Jack, you can't do this every morning," I begged, as I shook the realization from my head and straightened up, my arms still firmly crossed over my not-so-bare torso. "It's ungodly for one thing and—" I stopped when I took in his full apparel. "Are you wearing long johns?"

It was his turn to cross his arms over his chest, leaning his weight onto one leg as he leaned against the doorframe. "These are very in right now. Girls really find these enticing—"

"We're in the twenty-first century, Jack, not the nineteenth. Long johns aren't in fashion," I said, trying to keep my eyes from straying anywhere but his face.

His smirk widened, "Breathe, Dylan, I wouldn't want your neck to snap. I already _know_ you find me overly attractive."

I rolled my eyes, turning on my heels to head back through the adjacent door and into the dark bedroom. I stopped at the doorway and turned to face him. "You know, egos are best kept _small_ and _compact..._"

"You don't mean that," he said, shaking his head, making his hair fall into odd places. "I know you like the way these long johns fall on of my hips."

"… I think you've just scarred me for the rest of my life." His smirk morphed into a grin. I threw my arms up, sighing and rolling my eyes for the second time, as I remembered why I was out in the hallway in the first place. "God, that's not why I came out here!" I said, punching the wooden doorframes with the sides of my fists before bringing my fingertips to my temples. My head was starting to ache with the effort of keeping my eyes open. "The point is: STOP SINGING WHILE YOU PEE!" I whispered harshly, before slamming the door in his face.

_I feel better already._

XXXXXXXXX 

A while ago, I read about this family that would spend a few days a week talking, reading or playing music to a member of the family that was in a coma. Seriously, they just spent a few hours talking to this guy that had absolutely no idea of their presence let alone any way to communicate with them. But sure enough, 2 years later, the guy woke up and was just the same as he was when he lapsed.

A nurse at the hospital had given me the article about a month subsequent to the accident, when she saw that all I did when I came in here was sit and wait. "_It'll be better for him _and _you,"_ she'd said, her bad breath making my eyes water, which made her think that I was upset, which _then _made her hug me…

Sorry, I'm straying.

So, for about two weeks after reading about those people, I started reading a biology textbook to Michael. I understood probably ever fifth word in the damn thing and gave up because it made my head hurt. Instead, I'd been making him listen to all his favorite artists. Today, I was in a Bob Dylan kind of mood.

I sighed, putting my feet up on the side of the bed, my arms draping over the sides of the wooden armed chair and my neck pressing against the pale green weave behind me. I'd been waiting for two hours for Jack to get out of his therapy at the hospital and he still had yet to come back downstairs so we could go to Jerry's for dinner with him and Camille. My toe tapped patiently on the metal bar in time with the music.

"Girl from the North Country" began to play on the old beat up boom box Jack had leant me. I smiled, remembering that Michael used to play it for me. He said it reminded him of me.

If you're traveling in the North Country fair Where the winds hit heavy on the borderline. Remember me to one who lives there, For she once was a true love of mine "You're just saying that because his last name's Dylan," I'd say, causing him to answer: 

"_Maybe, but you _are_ a true love of mine."_

"_Right," I'd snort, unable to get the image of Michael with a harmonica hanging from his lips out of my head._

"_Imagining me with a harmonica, aren't you?"_

I was surprised to find that I wasn't feeling completely guilt-ridden. Neither Jack nor I had brought up the kiss since it had happened. Not that there was anything to bring up. It was barely even a kiss of passion just one between two friends.

_And I say yet again, you have a lying problem._

_I'm not lying!_

_Fine, you're… what is it you say? Oh yeah, "avoiding the truth."_

I'm not avoiding the truth either… 

_That kiss was completely different to any kind of kiss of infatuation _I've _ever encountered. _

_Hang on, hang on, time out. Nobody is infatuated with anybody._

_Just keep telling yourself that._

"Miss me?"

A voice from above me made me jump out of my seat.

"Let's not get too excited, now," Jack said, trying to hold back laughter. "Are you ready to go to Jerry's?"

I straightened out my clothing before shutting the boom box off and unplugged it from the wall, the voices becoming distorted and eventually non-existent in the process. "Yeah," I said, up at him. I was feeling too tired to think of anything snide or sarcastic. "So, how was it?"

He shrugged, reaching to rid my hands of the stereo. I pulled it out of his grasp before his fingers could even touch it. "It was okay, I guess," he sighed, draping his arms across my shoulders as he lead me to the door, the boom box banging on the backs of my knees. "It was… you know, therapy."

The funny thing was, I did know therapy. Everyone in this hospital knew how familiar I was with therapy, after the accident. I had to endure a month and week of it and I knew how much it sucked being poked and prodded, mentally and physically. Most of the doctors and nurses I'd seen in that month I'd never seen again, which was slightly creepy in it's own right.

"So, why did Jerry and Camille invite us over?" I asked as we wandered out the hospital.

Jack looked thoughtful for a second as he looked for a second as he looked around for the car, which Bobby had grudgingly lent to us. "Because they're family and they love me?" he said, spotting the beat up car and led me over to it.

"Okay, let me rephrase that," I said, rolling my eyes. "Why did Jerry and Camille invite _just _us over?" I looked over the car at him as he slid gracefully inside. I followed suit and continued to look at him as I sat next to him. "Jack?"

"What?"

I sighed, "Jack, are you even attempting to listen to me?"

The engine started when he turned the key in the ignition and the air behind us soon was overrun with the carbon monoxide rising up, worryingly from the underside of the car. Jack didn't seem to take any notice of it. "Yes, Dylan, I _am_ listening, I'm just not attempting to answer."

"Why the hell not?" I asked, starting to get aggravated. I'd just asked a simple question. He didn't look angry. In fact, he looked more embarrassed than anything.

"Because you'll get all pissed off and that's not something I wanna deal with right now."

"More pissed off than I am now?"

"Just let it go, okay?"

I put my left foot up on the dashboard, scowling as I looked out the window. I gave the best silent treatments. Michael hated them to death. Actually, most men did because it meant that I could have been thinking about someone other than them. I had the feeling that Jack was going to be easy to break.

A sigh drifted from the seat next to me and into my open ears. "That's not gonna work you know," Jack said, tiredly as I placed my other foot next it's pair. "I have three older brothers, Dylan, I can outlast anyone in the silent treatment."

The scenery outside moved by at a steady speed as my eyes followed every minor detail that passed me by. Detroit wasn't that bad a place deep down; actually, it was sometimes even beautiful. I wouldn't have lived in a city that never looked presentable for my whole life. Detroit was poetic in an almost depressing way and it had its bad points, but that was life.

As I had suspected, it was Jack who finally broke the silence. "Alright, if I tell you, do you promise not to get all pissed off and threaten to enforce bodily harm on me?"

I slid my feet down and wriggled in my seat to face him, blinking. "I solemnly swear _not _to get all pissed off and threaten to enforce bodily harm on you, Jack Mercer." It was silent again before I added, "Threatening won't be necessary, although infliction may be."

"Dylan."

"I'm kidding!" I said, throwing my arms up, defensively. "I promise, now speak."

Jack sighed, making a right turn, the steering wheel rotating in his hands. "Okay, so Jerry and Camille… kinda think…" he finished the answer with a mumble.

I leaned over to him, crooking a hand behind my ear. "I'm sorry, what?"

"They think we're dating!" he said, flinching as soon as it came out of his mouth.

I could feel my face going red from holding back the laughter in my lungs. And at that moment, I'm almost positive I died of laughter, while Jack sat in his seat, growing redder by the second.

XXXXXXXX 

I cleared my throat roughly, looking down at the watch around my wrist, nervously, although, why I was so nervous was unapparent to me. Well, not _completely _unapparent. I let my fingers brush along the fabric of the blankets on Jack's bed. _Just ask. You have nothing to lose. _Except, I did have a lot to lose. My dignity for one, and… You know, my dignity…I cleared my throat again, causing Jack to look up at me from the guitar intensives magazine he was reading from his bedroom floor. Damn. Now I really did have to say something

"Did you wanna say something?" he asked, casually as he looked back down at the glossy pages.

Dinner with Jerry and Camille had been, well, it'd been perfect, even though Jack had to awkwardly set them straight about our non-existent relationship and overall, nothing was different. We just had a nice dinner, played with the kids for a few minutes, then got back in the car and drove home in silence.

I came out of my daze to find Jack looking back up at me, expectantly. "What?" I said, defensively, holding my hands out in front of me.

He sighed, slightly annoyed, "Dylan, I can tell you're trying to say something, so why don't just spit it out?"

We glared at each other for a good two minutes until I said, "Okay, fine," defeated. I returned my eyes to my wrist, which I rubbed pensively with my thumb. I shouldn't have been nervous, really. It was a perfectly evenhanded proposal and I had every right to ask it. But, still, my heart was beating so fast in my chest, I was afraid that even he could hear it.

_What if he takes it the wrong way?_

_Well, after that kiss you gave him, I think he has every right to._

_I guess…_

_And your flirting tactics sure aren't helping…_

…_FLIRTING TACTICS?_

I cleared my throat again, still working up the courage to speak slowly, "I was thinking…"

"Dangerous enough in itself…" Jack said, grinning down at an article about Axl Rose.

"Har, har," I shot back, tiredly, nudging his foot sticking up in the air with my own, before continuing. "My cell phone rang last week and –"

"Since when do you have a cell phone?" Jack asked, raising his eyebrows. He was just doing it to annoy me now. And, of course, the bastard was succeeding.

I looked up at the ceiling, incredulous, "Are you gonna let me finish or not?"

"Sorry," he said, allowing me to proceed with a wave of the hand.

"Thank you," I continued. "So I picked up my phone and it was my brother and he said—"

"Since when do you have a brother?"

"Jack, you are ridiculously infuriating every second of the day, is this really how you want to carry on with your life?"

Again, Jack gestured for me to continue.

I sighed, wondering if it was even worth it. "My brother called last week and asked if I wanted to come visit him for a few days." I felt a small amount of weight lifted from my shoulders as I was finally able to get it out. Apart from the fact that wasn't what I was worried about asking.

"Where's he live?" Jack asked, looking up at me from the floor, with interest.

"Chicago," I stated, simply and I could tell he wondered where this was going. Hell, even I questioned where this was going. Taking a deep breath, I rolled over so I was sitting on the edge of the bed, and was facing him, yet still avoiding his eye contact. I continued, "But since it's been less than 6 months since my last seizure I can't drive there and, I don't know if you've noticed but I'm kinda broke at the moment…"

"Yeah, I kinda noticed that one when Angel and Bobby were wedging your couch into the living room," Jack chuckled, turning another page. He sighed, finally closing the magazine and tossing it aside, pushing himself up off the floor to sit on the bed next to me. Placing a hand on my knee in a mock fatherly way, he asked, "Now, Dylan, if you need my help all you have to do is say, 'Jack, I need your help going to see my brother in Chicago,' and I would be happy to serve." He finished with a shrug.

My face remained expressionless. I knew he was being serious but I couldn't help but start to narrow my eyes at him. He knew that it was hard for me to ask for help at all and he was just baiting me. It was working too, because, though I hated to admit it, I _did_ need his help with this. I pinched the bridge of my nose with my fingers and closed my eyes, taking another deep breath. "Jack," I began.

"Yes, Dylan?" he asked, and I knew a smile spread across his cheeks. He could tell what was coming from a mile away.

I exhaled, still pinching the bridge of my nose, "I need your help going to see my brother in Chicago." I said it quietly but I knew that he heard me.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" he asked, imitating what I'd done earlier by propping a hand behind his ear and jumping excitedly up on the bed.

I gave my nose one more pinch, before standing up on my feet to stand next to the bed, looking up at Jack with my arms crossed. "Could we _not _make a big deal of this?"

He collapsed on his knees so that our faces were level. "Now, that wasn't _that _hard, was it?" He had the cocky-ass look on his face. The look that I wasn't sure whether it made me want to repeatedly punch him or kiss him. "Admit it, Dylan, you need my help more than you're willing to say."

"If I don't admit it, what're are ya gonna do, Salvation-of-Jesus my ass?"

"_Judas_. Salvation of _Judas._"

Nodding, I grinned, "Right, now when you Salvation of Jackson—"

"_JUDAS_!" And before I knew it, I was nailed in the face with a pillow.

A/N: Wow, I'm so sorry I haven't updated in like, well, almost two weeks. I was suffering a minor case of writers block. Okay, well, actually it was a major case of writers block. That's kinda why this chapter is so forced and boring. Actually, Chapter 8 was gonna be a non-transition chapter, but I just needed another one. I promise this is the last one for now. I hope, anyway. This is more of a funny haha chapter than anything. Now, I suck at writing funny, so any constructive criticism has most likely been given to myself from myself.

**Sigh. Anyone seen RENT? Anyone cry during/after seeing RENT? God, now I'm gonna have the songs stuck in my head for the rest of the month. I've watched the damn thing about 5 times and sang, rather unsuccessfully along. Amazing. **

**Again, I apologize for the lack of occurrences in this chapter. This block is severe. I'll try very hard to get the next one up in the next week or so. It should be quite long, so look forward to it. ; )**

**I've been thinking about switching this to be rated T or something, just for the sake that it's not exactly mature content. Except for the, you know, strippers, cursing, what have you. I don't know though. I want this story to be more serious than humorous. Well, not that I don't like things being humorous… I should stop while I'm ahead… Carrying on…**

**Thank you everyone who's reading this! I've finally made it to past 2,000 hits, which has made me so happy I can't even tell you. So, again, thanks!**

**Lastly, I'm sorry if I made Jack sound like an ass in this chapter. I'm trying to show that he and Dylan are becoming better friends and possibly more than friends. He's still Jackie, though!**

**One more random question: What's your favorite chapter? I think mine's Chapter 5 or Chapter 4, but I dunno. Maybe just cause they've been the longest so far. Do tell, though!**

**REVIEW REPLIES:**

**Electricxrain – Ahh, my faithful reviewer. I'm so glad the talent show went well! Did you get in? I LOVE that you sang "Over the Moon," that's incredible. Idina Menzel is absolutely fabulous. I wish I had her lungs. I wish I'd seen her when she was in RENT on Broadway, but I DID get to see her talents in Wicked. Just fantastic. Did you start it from the very beginning, like the "Last night I had a dream…" part? I wished you all the luck I could muster, so I hope it paid off. And thank you for answering my four questions, even though you had to take the stupid FCAT. Ugh, I have to take the SATs during my Spring Break, which is gonna suck you-know-what. But I hope you did well and both the talent show and FCATs and I hope you're looking forward to the next chapter, 'cause it should be a good one. Hopefully. Xoxox**

**X3MissieAttyn – Why, hello there! I hope this wasn't a disappointment to you. I can see where you were coming from with the not sure how to get where you're going thing. Anyway, I'm gonna respond to your email as soon as I get back to school later today. Enjoy!**

**Embry – Thank you! I'm glad you thought it was cute. I was terrified of what people were gonna think when I posted the last chapter. Sorry there's no more kissing in this one, possibly the next chapter… Thinking about it….**

**Iluvgarretthedlund – My other loyal reviewer! I'm so glad you liked the last chapter, the kiss and all! I really apologize for this chapter. I promise next chapter will be better! But I hope you kinda liked this one all the same! Thanks again!**

**Smilin' Flash – YAY! EPILEPTICS UNITE! FO'SHO! In American speak that's "for sure"! Yokes, yokes. Leanne, I love you and I'm sorry that things have been kinda shitty lately, but I want you to know that you're not alone. Especially not when you have that fine piece of eye candy dangling at your beckon call. And when I say piece of eye candy, I'm talking about me. Well, I guess Louis can get in on some of the action too… You know the drill, Lannels!**

**ImAdctd2A3rdClssRkStr – Wow. Just wow. Thank you so much for reviewing every chapter! I was so surprised when I woke up this morning to find I had 7 more reviews than I did yesterday! That was a true gift, thank you so much! And I'm so glad to see that you're enjoying it, even if you've only just joined us! Welcome! Hope you enjoy the ride! Lol. Seriously though, thank you so much, you rock more than I ever could!**


	9. Send Me On My Way

**Chapter 9: Send Me On My Way**

I tightened my grip on the handle of the bag between my fists, the skin of my knuckles turning white. My eyes were closed and I was taking in Evelyn's comfort and scent. I needed her. I needed her now.

Jack and I were set to leave for Chicago as soon as he was packed. Jerry was nice enough to lend us his and Camille's spare car. I was eternally thankful to both of them. I was eternally thankful to Jack for agreeing to drive me. But I had this constant pang of guilt in the back of my mind: What if Michael woke up and I was gone? Not only would I be gone, but I'd be gone with another male individual that wasn't him. I felt disgusted with myself. That was one reason not to go on this escapade. The second reason was that I hadn't been on a long car journey since the accident. I mean, driving to and from the hospital with Jack was one thing, Eleven hours in a car all the way to Chicago was another. And I'd never been so terrified in my life.

My heart was pounding in my chest. It was New Year's Eve. I shouldn't feel like this on New Years Eve. I shouldn't feel petrified out of my wits on what's supposed to be a day of celebration. Although, that's what I thought about the party before we left. That's what I thought before we got in that damn car. That's what I thought before that truck came crashing into us.

I closed my eyes again in a very meditative fashion, straightening my back as I tried to easy my spinning thoughts. _What would _she_ tell me to do?_ Probably what she always told me to do: to bite the bullet and get right back on that horse. But I didn't _want_ to get right back on the horse. I wanted to be able to drive myself to see my brother, I wanted to be able to go to a house that I could call my own and say "welcome home" to my boyfriend everyday, I wanted Evelyn to be alive, I wanted Jack –

"You okay?"

I felt myself snap out of my pensive state and looked up at the bedroom door to see Bobby. He didn't look amused. In fact, he looked downright worried. His expression of that sort got me even more anxious, since Bobby didn't seem like the kind of guy that would get worried over nothing. After staring at him for what felt like too long, I smiled weakly, "Yeah, I'm fine." I winced when my voice sounded high-pitched and squeaky.

Taking a seat next to me on the edge of the bed, in a very grandfatherly kind of way. "You'll be okay," he said, putting a comforting hand on mine. "Once you get going, you'll be fine." I was amazed that he was able to tell what was on my mind. Maybe all those years with Evelyn had paid off more than other people were willing to believe. He removed his hand, obviously feeling awkward from the touch of reassurance.

"Thanks," I said, still straining a smile. "You're probably right. It's just I see images running through my consciousness and they won't slow down." I sighed, looking down at the spot where his palm had connected with the back of my hand. "You're probably right," I repeated.

His lips curled into a smile and he patted the top of my head, affably. "Ya gotta take care of Jackie too, he's only just a humble, very gay, man." I giggled, rolling my eyes at his humor. _Brothers…_

"You guy should lay off him sometimes," I said, after slapping his arm softly. "You may be surprised with the affect you have on him."

Bobby shook his head, running his palm over the greasy layer of his hair. "No, no I don't think I could handle any more actions of the gay variety out of him. I can only take so much."

We shared another laugh between us, "True, true," I countered.

Overall, Bobby was a nice guy. It seemed like he didn't have too many thoughts in his head about getting to know other people, which made the fact that he was trying his very best to comfort me at this specific moment in time, even more heart warming. I could see how he could be intimidating when he wanted to be. Hell, I could see how all the brothers could be intimidating when they wanted to be. Except for maybe Jerry, whose family had influenced him more than his brothers were willing to believe. Angel could be one hell of a fighter when someone was screwing with him, and then could regress to the age of eight when it came to choosing what to watch on TV. Jack, although he looked up to his brothers and would kill to be like them, had no more guts in his body than I did. Though, it may have been because of the way I knew him.

Jack suddenly appeared in the doorway, a large black suitcase that looked like it was on its last legs, dangling from his reddening fingers. His hair looked even more mussed than usually, a look that had probably spent him hours to create, even though he could have just rolled out of bed and left it. He wore his leather jacket over his favorite sweater and the jeans I'd stolen on Christmas. They were fraying at the hems and I made a mental note to have Sofi sew them up for him in the near future. He raised an eyebrow at Bobby, before letting his eyes fall on me. "Ready to go?" he asked.

I nodded and felt Bobby take my bag from my hands' grasp before walking through the open door and down the stairs. Jack offered me a gloved hand and pulled me up from the safety of Evelyn's bed, before following his brother downstairs to where other voices were drifting upward and into my ears. I could hear them but, despite my efforts, I couldn't for the life of me comprehend what they were saying.

My legs were shaking beneath me as I stood at the top of the stairs. I felt myself reach for the wooden railing and wrapped my fingers tightly around it. I closed my eyes when I had the sensation of entering a spinning tunnel and I prayed to god that I wasn't swaying noticeably. The lungs in the barred enclosure of my ribs felt tight and I could feel my heart pounding to the same beat as my head.

When I felt as though I could finally open my eyes without toppling over onto the hard carpeted floor, I looked down to find the eyes of Jerry, Camille, Sofi, and the four brothers staring up in my direction. I decided to take a chance on my legs and stepped down onto the first step. Jack stepped forward, ready to catch me, but I could see he was trying to be discrete. My left foot finally made contact with the wooden paneled floor of the entrance hallway and I gave an inward sigh of relief. _If I was able to do that at a time like this, riding in a car shouldn't be too bad, right?_ Everyone was still silently looking at me.

Looking awkwardly up at Jack, I said, "Are we gonna go or what?"

It was as though someone had pressed the play button and everyone stepped back into action at what seemed to be a high speed. Thankfully, none of them were overly fussing over me. They knew better.

"Now," Camille started, putting a hand on my shoulder as she led me outside. "The gas tank is full – Jerry and I filled it up before we got here – and registration's in the glove compartment, but you shouldn't need that."

Jerry suddenly caught up with us and put a hand on my other shoulder, "Right, and I called the hospital and gave them your new address a few days ago, so if we hear anything we'll call."

I heard Angel mutter to Bobby behind me, "Oh God, someone save her from the odd couple…"

"No, buddy that's you and your hag," was the retort.

Snow was still lying on the ground in thick, icy patches, and the short path from the house to the road was more dangerous than it looked, despite the fact that Bobby had shoveled it this morning. I could see white clouds of vapor evaporating from everyone's mouths as they shivered in the cool air.

Jack was silently putting our bags in the trunk of the sorry excuse for a car. He always got like this around his brothers: quiet and reserved. It was an odd and scary thing to see, especially when he was so different when he was away from them. Even if the distance was of a minimum.

"Dylan."

Jerry's voice brought me out of my trance as he turned me by the shoulders to face him. "Are you gonna be okay?" he asked, as he pulled me into a tight hug, a hug, which caught me be surprise. I hated these kinds of hugs. They felt so artificial, even if they were genuine. I awkwardly patted him on the back before pulling him away, nodding.

'Yes, Jerry, I'm gonna be fine. Jack's gonna be fine, the car's gonna be fine, we're all gonna be fine." I wasn't buying my own words, but he seemed to, because Jack's tight and over exaggerated embrace distracted him. Camille gave me a quick, tight hug around the shoulders, followed by Sofi. The woman retreated out of the cold and into the house just as Angel pulled me into another slightly awkward hug before letting go.

"Don't let him do anything stupid," he told me, leaning down so our faces were at equal heights. "He's only young, ya know."

I nodded and giggled, "Aren't we all?" I put a mock serious tone on and said, "Don't worry, he's in good hands."

Angel nodded his head before patting me enthusiastically on the shoulder and turning to say goodbye to Jack. After which, he ran back into the house, obviously hoping for some "lovin' from his woman".

"What, you aren't gonna say goodbye, after I carried your heavy ass bag all the way out here?" Bobby asked, sticking his hands in his pockets.

I sighed, in pseudo irritation, "And who was that I saw handing my bag off to his younger and crippled brother?" I raised my eyebrows at him, crossing my arms as we stood just a few feet from each other, both of us refusing to move an inch. Finally, Bobby made the first move and hugged me in one tight squeeze that almost knocked the wind from my chest. He stepped away from me, dropping his hands back into his pockets.

"Cracker Jack," he said simply, getting the attention of his youngest brother who was still talking to Jerry about the car. "Come here and give your favorite brother a hug." Jack and Bobby shared a short, one-armed hug, before pulling and turning away from each other. "You kids be good," The eldest brother said, pointing a finger at both of us as he walked back up the wooden steps of the porch and stood in the doorway. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he said, before adding, "Although, that's not really sayin' much."

Jack chuckled, shaking his head next to me. "Come on, we better get on the road, or else it'll take us more than a night to get there," he said, giving me a nudge on my arm and pulling me to the already packed car. I looked down at my watch. It was already 4:30. Jack and I were planning on staying overnight at a motel so we didn't have to deal with the New Year's Eve traffic on the highway.

I stood outside my door, shivering as my hands grasped the cold metal car door handle. I couldn't decide whether my limbs were shiver so violently from the cold wind or from the fear of getting in that damn car.

_Just pull it and get in. The sooner you do it, the sooner it'll be over. Just do it. Do it. Do it—_

Taking a deep breath, as though I were taking a dive into deep water, I pulled the black door of the car open and slid down into the dark leather seat, closing the door that locked me within my metal prison.

XXXXXXXXXX 

"Oh, listen Jack, it's your favorite song!" I shouted with artificial excitement, as the intro to some pop song that makes me want to rip my ears off, began to boom through the small, straining speakers.

Jack shook his head, shouting over the constant and annoying drum beat, "I DON'T WANNA LISTEN TO THAT!" I giggled, adjusting the volume knob so that the radio was on full blast, as I sang along in a high-pitched voice to match the artist's. Jack smiled, "You're not bad, you know."

I snorted at that. "No I'm not. I'm just incredibly gifted at imitating mildly talented imbeciles."

He shook his head again, looking down at the packet of M&Ms, which he'd been hogging for the past hour and a half, in his lap. "You could at least take a compliment sometime." There was an uncomfortable in the car, except for the radio, which was beginning to become static and needed adjusting. I squirmed in my seat, my eyes drawn to the scenery passing by. I hated compliments with a passion. Especially from men. They made me feel like I was sitting naked in front of a bunch of people. "Okay, what's next?" Jack asked, cautiously, bringing up out ongoing license plate game. I was winning, and it was only partly because Jack was driving.

Readjusting the heat, I sighed, "What state were we on, again?"

"Last I saw, you were pointing out a red pickup with a Kansas plate, so…"

"And then you took liberty in slapping my arm, you tactless bastard," I said, before trying to think what came next in the alphabet of states. God, how I hated Geography. "It goes Kansas and then… Kentucky!" I shouted, pointing out the yellow vintage VW bug that drove in front of us, which clearly sported a Kentucky license plate.

"That's not fair, that came around from your side!" Jack shouted over the deafening static that was whining from the speakers.

I held out an offering hand, "Fine, this is a one way street, change lanes. But I can assure you I will still be beating your ass with ease."

"This is a stupid game. And plus, you're just lucky."

Looking out the window, I said, "The License Plate Game is actually a game of quick eyes and mental capabilities. And possibly geographical knowledge, but that's it. It teaches you to be more observant. Luck hardly even begins to come into it, Louisiana."

"Okay, Louisiana is most assuredly _not_ my name," Jack answered, sharply, causing me to give him my best "you're stupid" look as I pointed to the car that had just crossed two lanes in front of ours, the word "Louisiana", clear as day. "Oh, right. Sweet."

I smacked my forehead with my palm, skeptically. "You know, sometimes I wonder about your mentality." I ran my fingers along the fogging window. "God, I'm not gonna stoop as low as to not call you by your real name. Pet names make me sick, anyway." I shuddered at the thought, making Jack laugh from the seat next to me. "But, you know, there's a first time for everything and you do _kinda _suit 'Louisiana.'"

"Dylan, I wish I could accept that offer, but I'm afraid I'm neither southern, 12 years old, nor a girl, so…" I cracked up.

"Try telling your brothers that," I snorted, leaning down to pick up the bottle of water that was rolling around at my feet. "Fine, we'll just have to think up a really good nickname for you."

"Yeah, something manly and strong…"

He received another incredulous look from my side of the car, "Manly and… Strong? What, you mean like Thor Solidman Mercer?" My face was screwed up in either disgusted or amusement of the very thought of people calling Jack "Thor". I took a sip of water before dropping the bottle back on the car floor.

It was my turn to be on the receiving end of an incredulous look, "Thor… Solidman…?"

"You're right you could never pull off a name as cool as Thor."

"Are you calling me uncool?"

Shaking my head, "Nay, my friend, I just don't think you could pull it off."

Jack scowled, "Hey now, you better be careful, you wouldn't want me to christen you, like… Hang on, what _is_ your full name?"

I leaned back and turned so my back was facing him in my seat, frowning. "It's dumb," I mumbled, pulling a face at the kid in the car next to us.

"Just say it," he said, looking at me inquisitively.

"_No_, now pass me a cigarette," I rolled my eyes. I _knew _shouldn't have brought up names…

He reached down into the door pocket and I heard the rustling of torn wrapping plastic. "Come on, just spit it out."

I kicked at the dashboard, "For god's sake: **NO.**"

"Say it, or I won't give you a cigarette."

Eying the M&Ms still in his lap, I whimpered, "What about the M&Ms?"

Jack shook his head.

It was silent in the car as I worked up the courage. I sighed, finally giving in. "Okay, fine." I took another deep breath, "If you tell anyone, though, **especially** Angel and Bobby, or I'll will personally make sure that it's the last thing you ever say." When Jack had nodded, looking slightly scared, I took one more breath, placing my hand in front of my mouth, my elbow propped up on the car door, "Sss…J…D…"

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Jack asked, propping a hand behind his ear.

"SUNSHINE MARY JANE DYLAN!" I shouted at the top of my lungs. I shouted it directly into his ear, causing him to flinch away from me. "Now don't you _dare _laugh!" I could feel myself blushing ferociously

"Sunshine Mary Jane…?" Jack stuttered. He wasn't smiling, or maybe he was, he looked more surprised than anything.

I turned away from him again, readjusting myself in a curled up position. I rolled my eyes, "I told you it was stupid. My parents were fucking hippies."

He laughed, "Yeah, no shit. But, seriously, it's nice. It suits you."

I flipped around to face him again, leaning forward in my seat, trying to appear threatening. "Take that back right now, Louisiana Mercer, unless you've lost all need for you right arm!" I sighed, letting my back hit the leather seat and my eyes returning to the scenery. "I mean, what kind of parents would be as cruel as to name their own daughter after: one, an entity of nature, two, marijuana, and three, a folk singer. It should be made illegal," I muttered.

Jack ran his hands along the steering wheel, mumbling something to himself. "…Sunshine Mary Jane Dylan Harrison…" I heard, when I finally could pick up his words.

"WOULD YOU STOP!" I yelled over my shoulder. I curled my legs up next to the door and leaned my head on the glass of the window next to me. "My parents are fucking mental cases…"

"Your parents are fucking geniuses," he retorted with a snort.

"Ya see, only a hippy would say that."

"Whatever, Sunshine."

I glared at his blurry reflection. "I hate you. Now give me a fucking cigarette."

XXXXXXXXX 

"_Give me the keys."_

"_No."_

"_Dylan, give me the keys."_

"_Nuh-uh." _

_My head was spinning in a good way._

_I loved having a buzz. _

"_Dylan, you're drunk, just give me the keys."_

_I knew he wasn't really mad; he was almost as drunk as I was, so he had absolutely no room to talk. God, champagne really goes to my head._

"_Ask me nicely and then _maybe _I'll give them to you."_

_Why the hell was I acting so childish? Oh yeah, those six glasses of Merlot and then the stuff the gave us after the meal… Whatever it was._

_I dangled the keys in front of his face, "Come on, Michael, just say it and get it over with."_

_He grinned, sheepishly. "Fine. Please, Dylan may I have the keys so that I can drive us home for the next hour."_

_My feet were stumbling on a graveled lot, my high heels becoming a nuisance and I was tempted to remove them. Instead, I dropped the car keys into Michael's open palm before heading for the red Volvo. Unsuccessfully, might I add, seeing as Michael had to catch me three or five times, until he finally had to put me into the passenger's seat himself._

_Michael got into the drivers seat next to me, after which, he gave me a tender kiss on the cheek. "I love how you're less stubborn when you're drunk," he said with another grin. The streetlamps of the open gravel parking lot outside of the restaurant where Michael had had his promotion party, lit up half of his face in a stunning orange, leaving the rest of his head in shadow. A crescent moon was hanging low in the sky and I could see it from my passenger's side window. What was glowing of it, anyway. Only a sliver of light could be seen from the dark blue, clouded sky. I was suddenly aware of how cold it was in the car and the air outside and I wrapped my shawl tightly around the little black dress having to adjust and readjust throughout the night, since it persistently threatened to fall down completely._

_I felt another press of his lips before hearing and feeling the ignition start to rumble beneath my feet. Reaching behind me, I grabbed my seatbelt tightly and fastened it securely in the buckle at my side. The windows were fogging already and I instinctively turned the dial of the hot air in the dashboard to blow up onto the windshield, watching as the mist slowly disappeared from the glass. _

_The car lurched forward as Michael pressed down on the gas pedal, although it may have seemed harsher than it actually was. I gravel crunched under the tires as we pulled out and began making our way down a lonely, abandoned street. _

"_I'm glad you dragged me to that," I said, after thinking for a second. "I honestly didn't think I was gonna have as good a time as I did." My eyes shifted over to the face next to me and I smiled. "Thanks," I said, almost as an after thought._

_He let out a laugh, "Believe me, darling, it was my pleasure. You are certainly a joy to be around." He thought for a moment, "Especially when you've been drinking."_

_I rolled my eyes, "That's just because I'm more willing to put out when I've been drinking." This caused him to laugh again and I reached out my hand for him to take it, which he did, rubbing my knuckles with his unoccupied right thumb, soothingly. _

_In our relationship, these moments were the ones I cherished most. Within these moments, neither of us had to speak to understand what was going through each other's heads. We loved one another, that was clear. Other people could see it, too, which to me, was a sign that maybe, just maybe, we'd be together forever. Well, I don't know about forever, but we had something. Something good. Something that made me fell almost complete, more complete than I had ever felt in my life. Maybe that's why I loved Michael so much. Maybe that's why he loved me so much._

_I'd been looking at the glowing, green, digital numbers of the clock on the dashboard and I remember that it was exactly 1:23 AM when I felt it. It was almost impossible not to feel it, but I definitely felt it, as it slammed into the side of the driver's side of the car. Michael's side of the car. Air bags opened on all sides of me, and there was screaming in my ears. I could feel my hand still gripping onto Michael's, which to my absolute horror seemed to be limp. My body was being thrown in right, left, and finally whatever had had its hold on the car released us and the vehicle started to spin unconditionally. The bags seemed to have deflated and there was a throbbing pain on the left side of my head. I realized that I was the source of the shrieks in my ears. The tires were screeching with me, almost mocking my screams._

_My brain was trying to will the spinning to stop. It was as though it was all happening in slow motion, even though I knew, in reality, it wasn't. _

_I saw it as a blessing when we finally lurched forward and everything was consumed by complete darkness._

XXXXXXXX 

I woke up with a start to find that I was back in Jerry's car and I let out a sigh of relief. It was dark outside except for the glowing pink and green neon sign that was hanging above the parked car proudly bore the words, "Lansing Motel." Looking next to me, I saw that Jack was nowhere to be seen. I leaned my head back onto the headrest of the seat and closed my eyes, trying to rid my eyes of the bleariness that had overcome them while I was sleeping.

Reopening my eyes, I examined the building I was parked in front of. The building definitely wasn't one of class. Hell, by the state of it, it probably worth about 2 stars at the most. My eyes fell on the poorly lit digital clock. 10:45. Just over an hour until New Year's.

There was a startling knock on my window, causing me to jump in my seat, but I relaxed when I saw Jack's face. I unlocked the door and opened it, resting my feet on the pavement of the lot.

"Come on, we're gonna spend the night here," he said before walking around to the trunk to get our bags out.

I stood up, my legs shaking from the sudden, unexpected weight of my body. My breath was misting steadily in front of my lips, which began to quiver to quiver slightly from the cold and I could feel my teeth threaten to shatter together. I looked around at the rest of the parking lot, freely, no longer constricted to the view from the fogged up windows of the car.

Despite the fact that it was dark and there were absolutely no street lamps around, the space was pretty well lit by the neon lights of the motel. At first glance, the place looked pretty abandoned, except for the three or four other cars, all parked as far away as possible from each other. But as I took a closer look, I could see small orange lights emitting from a dark corner of the parking lot, orange lights, which I recognized immediately as either cigarettes or something else. Knowing these kinds of motels, it was probably some sort of undeterminable something else, being smoked by some kids. On the opposite side of the motel, I could see a fogged up car, which I could only assume were people having sex. I smiled, thinking of Sofi and Angel, who were at home, probably doing the exact same thing. Near the middle of the entire parking lot, I could see the outlines of some guys with beers clutched in their drunken hands, their fingers wrapped tightly around the necks. There was the occasional smashing of glass and then laughing coming from their area and I started to feel uneasy.

Slamming the door, I followed Jack around to the trunk, but he was already slamming it shut, holding both our bags with one hand. With his other hand, he grabbed mine, pulling me quickly across the parking lot past the din that continued to sound.

Finally, we pushed through the glass and wooden doors into the reception area of the motel, and my chest eased the tension that had been riding up ever since I'd woken up from my nightmare. The inside, I was sorry to say, was just about as piteous as the outside lot. The rug, which was a mixture of dark greens and browns, and possibly some pinks, although I wasn't sure if they were intentional or not, appeared to be held down to the floor and each and every corner of the four walls by duct tape since, from what I could see, the carpeting was not supposed to be for this specific room. I lifted my eyes from the ground and looked up at the front desk in front of us. The thing looked as though it'd been rotting in that same place since the building was built, as did the man behind the counter.

Jack was the first to snap out of his daze as he walked up to the wooden desk and setting our bags down in front of it. "Hi," he said, trying his best to smile at the old man, who cracked one eye open, his cheek resting on the palm of his left hand. "Could we have a room for two for the night?"

Slowly but surely, the man began to sift through the papers in front of him. The phone rang, and slowly but surely, he picked it up, speaking in

Then it hit me: "a room for two?" Since when had we agreed on getting a room for two? How about two rooms for one? Why hadn't he asked me if we wanted one room for two or two rooms for one? It wouldn't have taken a lot of effort to just say those few little words: "Dylan, do you want a single or a double?" But then again, this was Jack. He was just special. And me, I had a temper, especially when it came to special people. Okay, well, not special people, just namely him.

Taking two giant steps up to stand next to him, I whispered harshly, "A room for two?"

Jack nodded, being careful not to look me in the eyes, "Chill out, Dylan. It's cheaper this way." I grinned, still looking at the wall behind the bald man's head, "And besides, now there's no need to try to bed me, I've done all the work for you."

"Did that involve your right hand or your left hand?" I asked with interest, leaning an elbow down on the wood. He glared at me.

We heard the phone hang up and we both turned our attention back to the man, who continued to try to find a pen under the mess of papers on his desk. He finally found one and opened a big day planner, writing us in one of eight spaces for New Year's Eve. Adjusting his wire framed glasses to the bridge of his nose, he said, "That'll be thirty dollars a night."

I heard Jack exhale before opening his wallet and throwing three tens down on the counter.

"Enjoy your stay," the man said in reply, taking the money and putting a room key down in front of us, which Jack took, picking up our bags again.

XXXXXXXXX 

_20 minutes to the New Year…_

_20 minutes to think of a resolution…_

_30 minutes to break that resolution…_

The room was dark except for the flickering light from the television, which was probably on its last few days of life. But besides that, I couldn't see a damn thing. The only thing I could hear was Jack fucking around on his guitar from the headboard of the bed and the low buzz of the neon sign outside our window.

Overall, the room was complete shit. I still hadn't dared to remove my shoes and let my feet touch the floor that appeared to have a layer of grease or something of the same consistency. The bathroom, which neither of us had had the courage to enter for reasons that made me wanna puke blood. The bed was probably the best feature of the whole room, covered in, from what my eyes could see, a clean yet, discolored duvet that barely stretched the length of the bed and after close observation, I realized that it was because the blanket was meant for a single bed. _Nice…_

Folding my legs under myself, I leaned back, propping up my upper body with my elbows, still keeping my eyes on the television, which was now showing a happy picture of the ball dropping in Times Square.

"Shouldn't we be getting drunk or something?" I heard Jack ask, his guitar stopping abruptly.

I shrugged my shoulders, "Do you _have_ anything to get drunk _with_?" My eyes were still on the TV set but I could feel his eyes on the back of my head.

"No…"

"Well then, there ya go."

I could almost feel his thinking process until he finally spoke. "Hang on a second," he said, as I felt him roll smoothly from the bed, placing his guitar safely on the pillow on my side. I furrowed my eyebrow as he hastily walked over to where our bags lay on the ground. After rummaging through his suitcase for a few moments he let out a triumphant, "AH HA!" holding up a bottle of whisky.

"Where the hell'd you get that?" I asked, sitting back up on the bed and turning my whole body to face him fully.

He looked pensively down at the label, rubbing his hands along the glass, smiling. "It's been in here forever: Mom gave it to me when I left home and I guess I just never got around to drinking it." He was looking at the bottle with such nostalgia that I couldn't decide whether I should pull him out of it or not.

Finally, I cleared my throat, "Do you wanna drink it with me?" I asked with a weak smile at his outline, the light from the TV hitting my face softly.

His eyes looked over at me and he nodded in silence. I wasn't sure, but I thought I saw the flicker of a tear in his eye, but I brushed the thought off as quickly as it had arrived.

Jack walked over to the dresser and pulled two glasses off the wooden tray with a clink of glass on glass. He walked over to where I sat on the bed and sat down next to me, fiddling with the wrapper around the lid of the bottle. After watching him for a few minutes as he unsuccessfully tried to open it, I said, "Gimme that!" grabbing the bottle from him and began to tear the wrapping off of it. I handed the whiskey back to him and he took it, giving me a look that clearly said, "I could've done that."

I watched him pour the liquid into the first glass and press it into my right hand calmly. I stirred it with my finger for a few moments before clearing my throat again, and when I spoke, it was barely audible. "You miss her, don't you?" I asked, not daring to look up from the glass in my hands.

I might've been imagining it, but I could feel him take a short intake of breath. Great, I hadn't even taken one sip of alcohol and already I was spouting idiocy.

"It's impossible not to," he said, taking a sip of his own drinking. I followed suit, downing the glass of its contents, my head spinning already, but whether it was from the alcohol or not was a mystery.

Someday I'll have the courage to carry on a conversation with him about Evelyn. Someday he'll have answers to all my questions about her and what it was like being in her family. But not today. Not tonight. This definitely wasn't the time or the place and neither of us were in the right frame of mind.

When I looked back up at his face I saw he was smiling. It was a small smile, but it was definitely there. I smiled back, holding my glass out for him to pour. "What're your resolutions for this year?" I asked. It was a cliché question, I know, believe me I know, but I really was interested. New Years Resolutions can tell a lot about a person's character. I unmuted the TV as the one minute count down started, the reporter on the screen counting in a disturbingly high pitched voice and I could almost feel my ears bleeding.

He was silent for a few moments, thinking hard about the question at hand and for some reason my heart was pounding hard in my chest. Maybe it was because of what I was afraid the answer would hold. Or maybe of what the answer wouldn't hold. I downed the second glass of whiskey, my head spinning slightly faster.

Finally, he spoke, a small smile playing on his lips, "Give up smoking," he said, quietly.

I laughed softly, speaking just as softly as he had, "Me too."

_7_

_6_

_5_

I held out my hand to seal the deal, grinning. But then something I never expected happened.

_4_

_3_

_2_

Jack gently put his hand behind my head, our lips meeting, both of us in an eager, insecure teenage fashion. I felt every single emotion possible whirling around our joined forms, neither of us able to see where this particular moment would take us, and to be completely honest, I didn't really care. My brain started to hurt when I was the person who deepened the kiss, an act which he did in return, his fingers burying themselves in my hair, soothingly caressing my softly with his thumb. I didn't want it to stop, but in the end, I was the one who gently dragged myself from the comfort and gentle sanctuary of his lips.

Something wasn't right.

What was that taste?

I should've known.

I hate the taste of metal.

_Happy fucking New Year._

**A/N: Wow, apologies from yours truly. Honestly, I'm really sorry about the lack of updating. I kinda suck. But I'm hoping this chapter will make up for it a little. I would write a more detailed Author's Note but I really need to hurry to my SAT tutor. I'm taking the real thing on Saturday so, please, everybody wish me all the luck in the world. I'm really gonna need it. **

**Shocker #2: 58 reviews… Just amazing. I love each and everyone of you. I say, by next chapter we'll have reached 70 reviews. Ambitious, I know, but I need to set SOME goals for myself. **

**Sorry this chapter probably has an unacceptable amount of mistakes. I have to have breakfast and I really desperately wanna get this online, so maybe I'll replace the chapter when it's been properly proofread. **

**Lastly, I'm terrified that I'm slipping into Mary Sueville, please let me know if I am and I'll try fix it. THANKS!**

**Short but sweet review replies:**

**Embry – It's always I joy getting your reviews! They're so sweet. Hope you enjoyed the chapter!**

**Duchess4ever – Thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Review again soon!**

**X3MissieAttyn – Hi::waves: I hope Florida's treatin' you right! I'm actually gonna reply to your email in the next day or so. I promise! You know, in between SAT training and all that jazz. Also, this is really weird, but everytime I see a commercial for that reality TV show about cheerleading I think of you. Okay, not so weird, but I hope you're having a good time and tell Maureena I say hi. Also give the captain of the cheerleading team a nice punch in the face. JK. Sorta…**

**Electricxrain – HERRO! OMG I HATE filling in fucking bubbles on tests. Am I the only one who gets crap in their hand after like 7 questions. I took a practice SAT yesterday for 4 hours + so I really know where you're coming from. But, yeah, at least it didn't have science on it. I hope they went well though! That really mega sucks about the talent show. Getting turned down from singing really sucks. My music teacher actually spent the whole of an hour on Friday telling me that I sucked so, again I feel ya. I hope you have a vacation soon to get away from the hell that is school! You sound like you deserve it!**

**AngWasHere – Don't be sorry! I looked back at the chapter and I realized that I was going slightly out of character. But thank you for being so nice about it. There are a lot of Fan fiction groups out there that don't take kindly to when characters are out of character coughstarwarscough. But I hope this chapter was slightly better. Thanks again!**

**Smilin Flash – Leanne, my little English rose, I am missing you dreadfully and I love you. Tell Louis I love him too but a significant amount less. I hope you enjoyed the fit in this chapter. This one's for you. Xoxoxoxoxoxooxoxo I'll call you later! **

**Alicia – You're a fool. But I love you.**

**Morose Scarlet – Okay, this sounds really creepy, but every time I've needed some cheering up, I've gone back and read your review because, well, frankly, it was amazing. And on top of that, you've put me on your favorites! I hope you liked this chapter too and it made me so happy to see that you thought I was keeping everyone in character! Review again soon!**

**Athena moraliasx – Thank you so much for the review! I'm so glad people are actually finding this story remotely funny. And plus, your review made me tingle with glee. Making characters real is one of the hardest things to do when writing, so the fact that you think they sound real, just makes me all the more pleased with myself. I hope to hear from you again!**

**Icy-dropletz – Welcome aboard! Your review made me smile! Before I started this story I'd never been called awesome more times than I have in the past 2 months of writing this! I hope this chapter was worth the wait! Were you able to get hold of that song? Review again soon!**

**Shining Star in Valinor – Wow, you just made my month! It always amazes me whenever people review ALL the chapters in one go! So, congratulations, I'm sending you e-hugs and an e-hot chocolate! Don't worry about it finishing too fast, there are a lot of things that are gonna go down in chapters to come. A sequel is lined up, titles are being considered, so keep reading, because, for the moment, this baby ain't goin' nowhere! And this time, the rocking of socks, is on your part! Xoxoxo**

**Lastly, a VERY special shout out to ImAdctd2A3rdClssRkStr for Pming me and reminding me to get my ass in gear. Not in those words, obviously and certainly not as harshly. So everyone, take your hats off because, if it was for her, this chapter probably would've been posted like next month! xoxoxoxo**


	10. Nights of the Living Dead

**Chapter 10: Nights of the Living Dead**

_"Pour me another one, would you, Michael?" Evelyn asked from her place on the couch next to me and across from Michael. She held out her glass, draping a slender arm dramatically over the back of the couch, her legs crossed with a pointed right toe. "I feel like Audrey Hepburn sitting on a couch as fancy as this," she said, smiling widely over at me as Michael poured more whiskey into her glass._

_Michael sat back down in his chair, chuckling over at the woman across from him, "Evelyn, you are the epitome of class, I must say." The woman chuckled as she uncrossed her legs and placed the glass on the coffee table in front of her._

"_Oh, stop." She waved a hand at him, causing me to grin over at Michael's unshaven face. He always put off shaving during the winter. He said it kept his face warm. I, however, had to put up with the beard burn. Not that I particularly minded. It kind of gave me a look into our future._

_Michael loved Evelyn. He said that she was like the mother he never had. They got along like old friends each time they saw one another and could talk for hours about, well, anything. _

_The wood of the chair creaked as Michael leaned back, his whiskey between his palms, looking like a true Irishman. "So, Evelyn, are you planning on taking in anymore kids anytime soon?" He'd really taken a keen interest in children lately. We weren't even married yet and he was _already _thinking about kids. I could barely plan what I wanted for breakfast the next morning. _

_Evelyn sighed loudly before taking a sip of her drink tentatively. "Oh, perhaps." She raised a hand to her head to pat down her hair. "Lately I've been really concentrating on Jeremiah's family. It's Amelia's birthday next week, so we've all been stressing about what to do for that. I'm afraid that if I take in anymore kids, I won't be able to give them my full attention." There was a short pause, and I looked up from my glass to see the wheels in her head turning. Something was wrong and she was debating whether or not to tell us. Finally, she spoke in a pained sort of voice that I was unfamiliar with. "I think that Jeremiah's been having some trouble… financially."_

_Michael and I both leaned towards her with concern. "Is there anything we can do to help?" I asked her, and for the first time ever, I saw Evelyn Mercer looking and feeling completely helpless. _

_But of course, a hand was waved before me, stopping me from saying anymore, and when my eyes returned to Evelyn's face, it was back to that, cool, calm and collected sort of look that everyone around her held so dear to them. "Oh, no, dear, I'm sure I'm just imagining it. I'm sure if Jerry was in any real trouble, he would tell me." She nodded her head, looking back down to adjust the hem of her floral covered skirt. _

"_Well, please, if there's anything we can do, Evelyn, please let us know," Michael said, his voice almost sounding pleading. But I knew that he would do anything to help the woman in anyway. He saw something in her. I too would have done anything to help her, attempt to repay her for all the things that she'd done for us. Just her presence brought us happiness._

_Sniffing the air, I got to my feet to go check on the meatloaf in the oven. I still didn't trust my cooking skills even though Michael and Evelyn had been trying desperately to teach me the ways of the kitchen. I was still pretty much useless as far as cooking food went. Microwavable meals were the extent of my knowledge. Anything that didn't have the risk of salmonella or any other food-born bacteria. But tonight, I was gonna make a special exception for Evelyn, who had, in fact, taught me how to make meatloaf. I was eager to impress with my skills. Or at least typhoid fever._

_Donning a pair of kitchen gloves, I bent down in the limited space that was our kitchen in front of the oven. There didn't appear to be any sort of burning. Opening the oven, I carefully removed the pan from the heat and placed it gently on the countertop. I removed the oven mitt and pressed a finger lightly to the surface. The meat sprung back into shape, a sign that it was cooked._

_I heard uproarious laughter from the living room as I began to carefully cut the loaf into even sized chunks and lift them with care, onto the clean white plates, serve the beans and carrots I'd been steaming for 10 minutes and then finally, picking the red wine from the wine rack in the pantry. I felt strangely accomplished as I set the plates and glasses on the table and called for my two companions. _

_The dinner was to go without a hitch. Why wouldn't it? I was with Michael and Evelyn, my two favorite people in the world, what more do I need?_

XXXXXXXX 

It's an odd feeling. Waking up, not knowing how long you've been out for. And I'm not just talking about after a seizure, either. I'm talking about everyday-waking-up-in-your-own-bed kinda waking up. From my experience, my first instinct is to make sure that I'm still alive. I don't know, maybe I've just always been paranoid. Most of us find ourselves unsure of the answer to that question: Are we alive? It's just such an disturbing thing, sleeping. You're mind is basically dead for a few hours and then you're just suddenly able to snap out of it. I usually wake up alone. Even if there are other people with me, I feel this sense of just utter aloneness. It's an awful feeling. But, hell, somebody's gotta feel it.

I usually find that it helps to get the brain working first, then work on the other mechanics of the system.

_What are the three best-known western names in China?_

_Jesus, Richard Nixon, and Elvis Presley._

_What is the American dollar _actually _made out of?_

_Cotton._

_How many people in the whole world have actually died from moshing?_

_6._

_What's the longest word you can type with just the left hand?_

_Stewardess._

_Okay, one more: What is the Statue of Liberty's _real _name?_

"Mother of Exiles"

My own voice is what brought me back to the present. When I started to unconsciously move the joints in my fingers and toes, I felt water trickling down my face. Along the cheek, down the nose and off the tip, along the cheek, down the nose and off the tip. Someone was patting a wet washcloth on my free cheek. On my other cheek I could feel the soft comfort of the bed linens. I shifted my weight so that I was lying on my left shoulder and opened my eyes. I was suddenly aware of the fingers that were tickling my scalp and I looked up to find Jack, his eyebrow furrowed and his eyes were looking into mine. I tried to sit up but found I was too tired to lift my own weight and I flopped back down on mattress, closing my eyes again.

"Do you need anything?" Jack's voice croaked. I cracked an eye and craned my neck to look at the digital clock on the bedside table. 12:30. Not too bad. I've been out for longer.

Curling my body into itself, I touched my head to my knees. "How many did I have?" I asked. I was tired, I wanted to go to sleep but I felt the overwhelming feeling of hunger rising in the pit of my stomach. Was that hunger?

The bed shifted as Jack lay down next to me and put his hand on my hair, gently burying his fingers into the brown strands. "Around 4," he said softly. "They all kind of merge into one."

I tried to keep my eyes on my fingernails that were digging themselves my denim-clad knee; an attempt at keeping myself from getting stressed. Or maybe it was to keep myself from looking up into his eyes that I could tell were staring in the direction of my forehead. Finally, I felt Jack's fingertips under my chin, drawing my face upward to look him in the eyes. My head was still spinning from the whiskey and the seizure. I felt weak. Pulling myself up again onto an elbow, I found that my bottom lip stung annoyingly and I touched a fingertip to where the pain was coming from. Blood trickled freely down my middle finger, down along my wrist before dropping to the bed sheet below. I suddenly became aware of the fact that a small portion of the floral patterned quilt was drenched.

Damn.

I hadn't bit my lip since my very first seizure a year ago, and even then it hadn't been this bad. It wasn't until I heard approaching footsteps from the bathroom that I realized that Jack had left my side. His face looked pale, his hair stood up from all angles and it made me wonder what the hell I was looking like. I felt a blush coming on.

He sat back down next to me and I saw that he had tissues as well as the disinfecting alcohol and Neosporin I'd packed just in case of another Jack-and-fist dilemma.

I sat up, still holding the back of my hand to the place where the blood was still trickling out, as Jack switched on the light and began to remove the cap from the alcohol.

"You sure you know what you're doing?" I asked, hesitant of Jack now having the upper hand. "I would rather avoid having permanent scaring."

Jack chuckled, gently pouring a small amount of disinfectant out of the confines of its bottle onto the one ply toilet paper in his hand. "You're fine in my hands, babe," he said, quickly screwing the cap back on the neck of the bottle which he placed on the wood of the table next to him.

I scoffed. "Remind me to kick your ass the next time you call me babe." I realized that he was waiting for me to remove my hand from my lip. "Lemme do it," I said, warily looking at the wad of paper in his hand and thinking about all the consequences that came with letting Jack Mercer clean my wound.

Mimicking me, he scoffed, "Hey, I trusted you when I needed disinfecting. Now it's your turn." I apprehensively removed my hand from the bite and awaited the excruciating pain that was to come, a permanent wince on my face. "Come on, Dylan, it's not _that _bad." This statement made me replace my hand to where it had been.

"Says the man who nearly cried when I was cleaning his injury."

He dropped the tissues on the ground, whether it was in shock or just in stupidity, I didn't know. Or cared. At least not until he said, "Well, at least mine wasn't self inflicted…"

"SELF INFLICTED? SELF INFLICTED? I WAS HAVING A FUCKING SEIZURE JACK! YOURS WAS MORE SELF INFLICTED THAN MINE WILL EVER BE! YOU'RE JUST A GODDAMN IDIOT!" I removed my hand once more, apparently just as Jack had intended, and he saw it as the opportune moment to make a move on my face… With the alcohol.

I'm sure the screams could have been heard from every single dimension of the motel. And that was just the shock of it all.

I need a cigarette.

"There, now doesn't that feel better?"

My muffled reply came from behind the bitter smell of the tissues: "No." My eyes were watering from the stinging in the mouth area of my face and I was beginning to think that maybe infection was the better option. This was just hell.

I was unconsciously glaring at Jack for god knows how long until he said, "Hasn't anyone ever told you that if you keep your face like that for too long, it'll stay that way." He removed the tissue from my lip and quickly observed the bloody mess before tossing it into the wastebasket. I was silent for a good two minutes, thinking about nothing in particular when Jack's voice reverberated around the badly lit and barely furbished room, removing me from the caverns of my brain. "I'm kinda wishin' I was still drunk right now." He was smiling widely at me.

It was weird to hear my cynical scoff through the thick silence. "I can guarantee you that if you were still drunk you would not be touching my face with medical materials right now."

"Not with medical materials, huh?"

"Bite me."

A cold sensation coated my lip and I realized that Jack was applying the Neosporin and the pain had diminished into almost nothing. My eyes were beginning to droop and I could feel a yawn coming on but I held it back. Well, at least until Jack started to replace the cap on the tube. "You're tired," he said, returning to his feet and pointing a dirt-ridden fingernail in my direction. "You. Sleep." His finger pointed at the bed.

"Did you seriously just point a finger at me?" My body was still shaking. Post-seizure, I'd found was worse than the actual seizure. It was as though I'd been in a bomb shelter during an air raid until I was finally able to return above ground and thus witness the aftermath of it all. Except for me, I was the aftermath as well as the witness.

I could see Jack trying to hide a smile as he pulled the bloodstained bed sheets down. "And the bed, too," he said. He threw down the pillows on the floor next to where my feet dangled from the bed.

"You're so… annoying," I yawned, unable to think of a retaliation.

Jack finished up the bed before straightening up and looking at me, expectantly. I crossed my arms across my chest and returned his look in annoyance. I was getting irritable from tiredness. "What now, freak?"

An eyebrow rose on Jack's face, and for the first time in the fifteen minutes since I woke up I saw that his eyes were red except for the dark circles that surrounded them. My annoyance diminished slightly and I uncrossed my arms so that my hands fell into my lap. He let out an exaggerated sigh, his eyes falling to the ground and his entire body seemed to droop in mock exasperation. "Well, am I gonna have to undress you myself or are you gonna do it for me?"

I shook my head before removing myself from the bed on still shaking legs. "I think I'd prefer to take the latter," I muttered as I grabbed a pair of Michael's old boxers and an old Ramones t-shirt from my suitcase and stepped smoothly into the bathroom.

Once inside, I finally got a good look at the state of my appearance. I was stunned to find that the gash in my lip was about 3 teeth worth and was black from the blood having dried into a threatening looking scab, Neosporin slathered generously across it. My hair, which had been tied up before the seizure, was gracefully falling out of its rubber band and onto my shoulders in unraveled, frizzed ringlets. I gently pulled the tie out of my hair and raked a hand through the mess. As I knew it would, my fingers got tangled up in the curls. I was too tired to care and just retied it on top of my head. My eyes, like Jack's were red around the grey of the iris. Nothing I could do about that.

After changing quickly and giving myself one more inspection in the mirror (why the hell did I care so much?), I opened the door to find Jack sitting on the bed, shirtless, hair a mess in minor chaos and looking more tired than he did 5 minutes ago.

My eyes fell on the only scathed part of his chest. It was in the upper corner of his left shoulder, surrounded by some tattoos, just inches above his heart.

The gunshot wound.

The gunshot wound.

I'd seen it before, of course. After I'd moved in, most of the times I'd seen Jack, he'd been shirtless, but this time was different. The orange light from the bedside lamp left mystifying shadows around the area of which the wound lay. It was only a small circle of scarring, but right then, to me it looked bigger than I'd ever seen it before. It was almost as though a spotlight had been shown on it and my own shoulder began to hurt just looking at it. I knew it still pained him. Even though he'd never say so out loud, I occasionally caught a glance of him wincing while he tried to reach for a plate from the top of the cupboard. His eyes would still replay the moment over and over again. In that sense, Jack and I were the same person: replaying the reflection of a life-changing event, never to be the same again.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice breaking through the silence.

I nodded and made my way over to the opposite side of the bed, on which Jack had replaced the bloodstained quilt for a blanket I assumed he found in the dresser drawer.

It was the biggest relief when my head finally hit the pillow and I felt Jack draw the blankets up to my elbow before lying down himself on his side of the bed. The light was switched off and the entire room fell silent, even though neither of us had been speaking. That's the thing about darkness, it has this way of making everything surrounded by it peaceful. I've never been afraid of the dark. There are far worse things to be scared of.

Jack's hand found mine beneath the bed sheets and he grasped it between his palm and fingers. For some reason, that one small part of my body felt safe, thus making the rest of my anatomy feel protected as well. I couldn't remember the last time I felt that sheltered.

My mind was brought back to Michael. Still sleeping in the sanctuary of his bed, unknowing of where I was or what I was doing. The thought made me drop Jack's hand and pretend to itch my arm instead. I felt the sudden longing to be in Michael's arms again. For him to touch me, tell me he loved me, feel his fingers gently tickle to bare skin of my stomach, legs, arms, neck.

A car pulled into the lot outside, causing the headlights to be scattered in wide broken rays across the ceiling through the window.

The loss I had felt for Michael a year ago was nothing compared to what I was feeling at that moment. I needed someone to tell me that they loved me. That I was beautiful. That they couldn't live without me by their side.

I'd been trying so desperately to rid myself of these emotions because Michael wasn't around to fulfill them, but sometimes I thought that maybe it wasn't Michael I was longing for.

And as I drifted off to sleep, memories of Michael's hands, voice, lips swirling and scattering around my brain, I could have sworn I heard Jack whisper the words, "I love you," under his breath. But then again, it may have just been the protrusions of a dream, rising up at the back of mind, before engulfing my consciousness in darkness.

**A/N: I don't even know how to begin to apologize for taking a ridiculous amount of time. Things have been really busy, but I should be able to update more often now. ALL of my exams are over and the amount of work they've given us is manageable. Thank you to everyone who reviewed during my unexpected hiatus. They were fucking incredible in every way possible. Also, I apologize for the length of this chapter. I'm sure it's a big let down after waiting for so long. But I can assure you, next chapter is going to be big. In fact, it's gonna be HUGE. In length and in content. So, fret not. I shall be posting again soon. And I hope you're all excited. 'Cause I am D.**

**On a blindingly brighter note: WE REACHED 70+ REVIEWS! YESSSSS! THANK YOU EVERYONE! We should reach a hundred by Chapter 11. Wow. **

**Please, tell my you don't hate me and reviewwww.**

**Xoxox**

**Review replies (ALL 15 of 'em…):**

**Smilinflash: You are amazing. You are incredible. I love you I love you I love you. I fucking hate Wednesdays. But I definitely love you. Xoxox**

**Jubilation379: Thank you so much for your review. Your words were unbelievably kind and I'm glad you like it. Please review again soon!**

**X3missie attyn: HI MISSIEEE! I'm so sorry we haven't spoken in like a kagillion years! That's totally my fault and I promise we will speak again soon. Did you get the songs I sent you like a month ago? I wasn't sure if they sent 'cause my computer like freaked out when I sent them but I hope you got em. I hope everything's well wit h you. How's your sister feeling? I was so incredibly happy to hear/read that you got cheerleading captain this term. I ran around my house at school telling everyone. LOL. Anyway, I'll write you again soon and I'll get all the details, but until then, AVOIR MON AMIE! **

**Embry: THANK YOU! LOL. The name was just something I threw in at the last minute, so I'm glad someone enjoyed it. Until next time!**

**Electricxrain: RAIN! Eee. Sorry about the whole pneumonia thing, that really sucks, but at least you got to do the tryouts, which sounded cool. And really, who wants to be performing while there's a kid with a plastic sword in the audience/backstage/anywhere near you? But I hope you're feeling miles better and I'm glad you liked the chapter. I hope you like this one. Sorry for the wait. I suck. Lots of love!**

**x. Cosmic.Dancer .x : I'm so ridiculously happy that I inspired you. I don't think I've ever been anyone's inspiration for, well… anyone. But that's great! So, hat off to you, my friend. Thank you maximum amounts. Glad I could be of service! Haha, dirty. Xoxox**

**Duchess4ever: Thank you so much! I love my muse. Except when she abandons me for 2 months, at the expensive of you and the rest of the readers. But I hope this chapter was okay. Review soon!**

**Shining Star of Valinor: HELLO! Ugh, SATs. Let's not talk about them. They just suck. I did okay though. I managed to get higher than a 450 on each section and above 500 on the math section, which is pretty good considering I'd only been studying for them for about 3 days. But, whatever. It's convinced my parents to let me have a gap year so I can retake them and stuff. Coolness. I thank you for every single on of your reviews because they are just so kind and amazing. THANK YOU!**

**ImAdctd2A3rdClssRkStr: HEY! I still really need to read your story. Actually, that's my goal for this week. And I'm gonna review every chapter. Because not only did you review everyone of MY chapters, but you also reviewed chapter 9… Twice. I love YOU so mother fing much. The next time we're both online, you and I shall talk. Sound good? Good. Hope everything is amazing for you! Xoxoxox**

**RAWRx Athena: You changed your name! Very nice. Very hardcore. Your review was and always is great. Amazing even. Thank you for helping me in my quest for more reviews! It was very rewarding! Sorry this chapter boring, but I PROMISE you. The next one will be fantabulous. I've been looking forward to writing it for a very long time. Talk to you soon!**

**Xoxox**

**I run with scissors: Thank you! Every story needs conflict, right? I'm sorry that this chapter isn't as good as the last one. This one's kind of a transitional chapter (god, I hate them.) but I hope you enjoyed it all the same. Review again soon!**

**Vampire Queen: Sorry about the cliff hanger! I too hate when authors leave chapters like that and then don't update for ages. But I hope that my updating at shorter intervals will make up for it. Thank you!**

**Verona Sage: OMG! I didn't mean to rid you of sleep and I'm sorry about the withdrawal! Thank you for the review though, it's nice to hear when people choose my story over more essential things. Like, um, sleep. Which, by the way, is my call in life. Yeah, sleeping. Keep reviewing!**

**Professor Simms: No hanky panky…. Yet. Hopefully soon though! Hopefully for you. Not for me, I already KNOW when they're gonna get it on! BAHAHAHA! Sorry. Thank you for the review, though and I hope you liked the chapter!**

**Another apology: Sorry for the, uh, surreal review replies, author's note and chapter. : mentally ill :**

**xoxoxox**


	11. Pitter Patter Goes My Heart

**A/N: This chapter is probably packed full of grammar and punctuation mistakes. But it's late and I desperately want to post this before bed. I was waiting for Addy to come online so she could beta it for me (cherish you, darling), but, alas, no. I'll probably replace it when I have the right mind to proofread and if people complain. But until then, enjoy. FLUFF GALORE! xoxoxox**

**Chapter 11: Pitter Patter Goes My Heart**

"Why the hell are you so edgy?"

I bounced nervously on the balls of my feet, pressing my fingers on the doorframe, next to the button of the bell I just rang. "_I'm not_."

"Wow," Jack said, in mock amazement, "I am so totally not convinced." He reached into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes and lighter. "Seriously, though. Why're you so twitchy? You haven't stopped moving since we left the motel this morning."

He pulled a cigarette from its case and began to light it just as I grabbed it from his lips as I realized what his intentions were. "Would you not smoke that shit out here?" I asked, pointing to the dull green smoke alarm above our heads. I let out a tired sigh causing the stands of hair I hadn't realized were hanging in my face, to fly out in front of me. Tucking the strand behind my ear I mumbled, "Jesus Christ, you have absolutely no common sense whatsoever. It's actually unnerving."

Jack sighed.

Truth be told, I _was _edgy. Well, not so much edgy, but nervous of what my brother was going to say when he saw me. I hadn't so much as sent a postcard to him since before the accident. In fact, I didn't even know how he tracked down my cell phone number in the first place.

Chris and I never really got along. Actually, although I hated to admit it, I was relieved when we both went our separate ways. He'd had a lot of problems in the past. Drugs, women, police. Nothing really out of the ordinary for Detroit. But I still loved him as a little sister should love her big brother.

We were standing in front of the painted green, metal door, behind which my brother resided. I pressed my fingers against the brass "2" that hung from the door by a single bolt and straightened the number so that it could be properly deciphered.

"Man, my head kills..." Jack piped up again from beside me and I could hear him returning his cigarette back into his coat pocket.

Rolling my eyes, I rang the doorbell again and listened closely for any movement behind the metal door. "Fucking lightweights…" I eased when I finally heard the distressed rustling of what appeared to be my brother rushing to his feet. A few bangs and clatters later – a lamp on the floor, a rug or two turned over – and finally the door was opened to reveal…

"GOOD MORNING, SUNSHINE!"

I let out a yelp in surprise when I found myself being lifted up into the air by the hands of my brother. Up past the doorframe, slowly approaching the smoke alarm, the ceiling, kicking and holding on to his shoulders for dear life…

"CHRISTOPHER, IF YOU DON'T PUT ME DOWN, I WILL KILL YOU!"

Promptly, my brother obeyed, returning me gently to the ground before holding me away from him by my shoulders to get a good look at me. "Jesus Christ, Mary Jane, you're getting way too skinny for my liking."

Snorting, I rolled my eyes again, "Yeah, well, it hasn't exactly been an annual meeting, has it? And you know not to call me that."

"Sorry. _Dylan_," was the sarcastic reply.

I too stood back so I could take in my older brothers form. His hair was brown, like mine but it was longer than I remembered. The last time I saw him, it was shaven as close to his head without him being completely bald. 'They didn't allow a lot of hair in jail,' he'd tell me and when I asked why not, he said simply, ''cause they take every expendable thing you have to give. Your name, your hair, your privacy.' At that point, he'd been doing three months in prison for auto theft. It could've been worse, but special circumstances led to special time. But I never bothered to ask what was so special about the circumstances and, obviously, it made no difference now.

He stood a few inches taller than me, but not as tall as Jack, but his build was similar to that of Bobby's, although it was difficult to tell if he was as heavily built given that a thick sweater covered his torso, underneath which, I'm sure would have been adorned with tattoos and knife wounds. Or maybe that was just a little sister remembering the protection and strength of her big brother.

Chris interrupted my thoughts and at the same time, Jack coughed lightly, "Is this the Michael guy you had so much to say about the last time I saw you?"

There was an awkward shift in the hallway, and I suddenly felt the urgency to move to a different setting. Somewhere where it wouldn't feel so wrong to talk about everything that had happened.

"No, uh, this is… This is Jack." I finally looked over at Jack, who hadn't said a word since the door was opened. He was reaching out for my brother's hand, to which Chris finally responded to with an awkward and suspicious handshake. Quickly I said, "Jack drove me here."

Chris let go of his death grip and looked at me, amused. "You couldn't drive yourself here, Princess?"

Another awkward silence.

"Let's step inside," I heard Jack say as I stared, frozen, at my feet.

XXXXXXXX

The radio had been playing 80s songs the whole time I was telling my brother about the accident, about Michael, about the epilepsy. And then about Jack, by which time Chris had been rubbing his forehead with the heels of his hands for exactly 8 minutes, according to the analog clock that hung dangerously above the radio, ticking annoying almost too quickly.

The entire apartment was a mess but I could tell he'd tried to clean up before he'd answered the door. Laundry was placed – more like thrown – indiscreetly next to the door of the kitchen, giving the impression that it was just about to be washed, but instead gave off the smell of something dying. As we walked in, I looked to the right of the front doorway, through the kitchen doorframe where I saw plates piled high in and around the sink. I suddenly felt blessed to be stuck with Jack's brothers instead of my own. The door to the bedroom was shut, yet I had no desire to venture beyond it. From the floor hallway, we stepped directly into the living room, which gave the impression that a fraternity had been living in the apartment, instead of a 28 year old man. But I did see him try to discard any porn, drugs, or drug paraphernalia that were scattered around the room.

We were offered tea, Jack and I both declined. We were offered gin and tonic, Jack and I declined again. We were offered some kind of pancakes with mold, which Chris swore on his life were blue berries and, again, we took a rain check.

"Wait, so lemme get this straight," Chris began, his voice muffled into his curved form from the egg shaped chair opposite the couch Jack and I sat on. My brother removed his hands from his face and I could see that his eyes were red. "You are in a near-fatal car accident… You get epilepsy… You're boyfriend is in a vegetative state for almost a year and a half… you move in with a bunch of guys you just met…" he paused, recapping in his mind what he had just said. And then he finished, but he hadn't need to speak for me to know what was coming, "And you didn't think to call your brother, the last blood relative you have left in this world."

Wondering where the conversation would go from here, I nodded slowly, wrapping my fingers together, not daring to look into Chris's eyes. I couldn't tell if his words were filled with hurt or anger.

Finally, I said, quietly, "I didn't think there would have been anything you could've done."

Chris exhaled and I looked up from my fingers to see that he had a a finger pointing at my face. "I'm you're older brother, kiddo. I'm supposed to help you through thick and thin." He sounded like he was about to cry, but I decided it was in my head when he continued: "Do you know how fucking long it took me to track you down, Dylan?" I winced at the yelling and I felt Jack awkwardly get up from the couch and ask where the bathroom was. His response was a general wave in the direction of the bedroom from Chris, before adding, "I thought you were fucking dead for a two years. And you don't send a goddamn thing." He downed the contents of the yellow plastic cup in his hand before crushing it in the palm of his right hand. "Some fucking love you show there."

My brother had never been able to see a situation from more angles than one so, of course, I'd suspected this.

"I'm sorry," I said, my voice sounding as tight as my throat. "I've just had a lot to worry about."

"You know what, Dylan? Fuck you. You are the biggest bullshitter I've ever met."

When I'd realized that he was finished and was waiting for me to respond, I took a deep breath trying to decide on a way to apologize without repeating myself. I knew from experience that arguing my point was not the way to go when with my brother.

"You're right," I said, surrendering. "You're right," I repeated. "I'm sorry, I've just had a lot going on. And… it's been a struggle." I was doing the younger sibling sympathy routine, complete with real silent tears and sincerity in my voice. He fell for it every time.

When Jack returned to the room, Chris had joined me on the couch for a reunion/forgiveness hug. From Chris's shoulder, I looked at Jack through red eyes and winked.

The hug ended and Chris rubbed his hands together before exclaiming, "We need to celebrate somehow. You guys weren't planning on leaving tonight, were you? How does a drink sound?" he looked at me, grinning.

"Sure," I said with a shrug and a grin in return.

We both turned to Jack, who still stood next to the bedroom door.

"You in John?" Chris asked.

"It's Jack," he said with half smile. "And yeah, I'm in," he added, looking at me with a whole one.

"Alrighty, then," Chris exclaimed, rising off the couch, "Let's go get fucked up."

XXXXXX

The three of us entered, shivering from the brisk winter Chicago weather and shaking snow from our hair. We stood surveying the seat situation. Chris nodded at the bar tender, who nodded back, pointing to an empty round booth in front of the glass window, behind which snow was falling gracefully on the sidewalk. Christmas worthy fairy lights hung on the inside, dancing and reflecting off the glass on the darkness outside.

The scene of the bar – O'Brien's – was not out of the ordinary. It was the similar musky, dimmed light atmosphere of in the bars in Detroit. It was uncomfortably hot with our jackets on but we stripped them off once we'd sat down. A jukebox was pounding loudly from a corner, people gently swaying in each other's arms nearby.

I sat between my brother and Jack, who hadn't said a word to either me or my brother since we'd left the apartment. I turned and tilted my head slightly, trying to get a better look at him, feel what he was feeling. But I'd learned from experience with Jack that trying to read him was as difficult as trying to empathize with a rock.

"I gotta make a trip to the pisser," I heard Chris say and I nodded in response, not taking my eyes off Jack.

He was leaning forward on his elbows, observing the people around him. Every now and then he'd crack his knuckles, alternating between right and left. It was a habit I'd despised when I was first confronted with it, but now, I was used to it. Maybe I'd even learnt to like it. The music continued to sound in the background and I could feel his feet tapping in time next to mine.

Finally, I leaned forward and pressed my fingertips to the skin of the back of his hand. Not removing his eyes from his surroundings, he smoothly laced his fingers with mine and covered my hand with his other. His palms were warm even though we'd been outside in ten-degree weather moments before, much warmer than my hands, which were red from the bite of cold. A smile played his lips and for the slightest of moments we were the only ones in the room.

But both of us returned our hands when we heard Chris yelling to the tender for 6 pints before returning to his seat at my right.

"So how did you two meet again?" he asked Jack and I, both of us returning to planet earth with a crash landing.

"At the hospital," I answered a little too quickly, but was soon saved by the sight of a tray of 6 pints of beer being settled on the table between us.

Chris nodded, removing a glass from the tray and promptly drank a third of its contents. "At the hospital while you were neglecting your big brother?"

When I ignored this and instead to a few sips of my own beer, he turned to Jack, "Why were you in the hospital, man?" I could tell he was trying his best to sound concerned, but ended up sounding cocky.

Jack paused as though he was trying to find the right words. "I got shot in the shoulder by a gang member right outside my mo– my brothers' house."

It was then that I realized I'd never heard the full story of the day Jack was shot. I'd never thought that asking him for the details of that day would be a smart move since even baring the remaining scar to me last night was difficult for him. Men, I know, want to make others believe they are impermeable to anything. But I knew that prodding him to continue wouldn't be wise.

"Fuck, how are you now?" Chris tried to continue the subject, and I mentally kicked his head in.

After a long sip of beer Jack replied, simply, "Yeah, I'm fine," and I could feel the subject closing, and when Chris opened his mouth to reply, I physically kicked his shin, causing him to grunt deeply before, luckily, taking the hint.

He finished his beer before picking up the next. The door opened behind Jack and I.

"Hey, Dylan," Chris whispered, subtly pointing over my shoulder at whoever'd just come in. "Check this out," and slowly he slid out of his seat, casually walked over to the bar and sat down next to the group of women that had just entered. I heard a muffled, "can I, uh, buy you girls a drink?" One of the girls blushed and giggled.

Both Jack and myself chuckled, an Aerosmith song screeching from the jukebox. We both finished our beers in a matter of gulps and I picked up my second, finishing it within 5 seconds, slamming the glasses down once we'd finished. His remained untouched, since we were supposed to be driving home in the next hour or two.

Smiling, we looked at each other. Then Jack took my hand, "Come on," he said and pulled me through the crowd over to the jukebox, which had finished its latest tune. Standing directly in front of the machine, he punched in the numbers with confidence.

He turned back to me and gently took my right hand in his left, after which he placed his right hand on my lower waist, just as "Song to the Siren," by Robert Plant began to flow from the speakers. Following suit, I reached up so that my left hand could just grasp the back of his neck, and then, as though it was planned, the two of us began to sway; Jack bending his knees just the slightest so that I didn't need to stretch my arm as far, and me, rocking on the balls of my feet.

I lifted my eyes up to his, and resumed the eye contact.

_Long afloat on shipless oceans_

I did all my best to smile 'Til your singing eyes and fingers 

_Drew me loving to your isle_

_And you sang_

_Sail to me_

_Sail to me_

_Let me enfold you_

_Here I am_

_Here I am_

_Waiting to hold you_

I felt Jack's callused fingertips touch the skin on my lower back, between my t-shirt and jeans and I grew closer to him without noticing, the warmth of his torso, causing me to shiver in my own skin. Lightly, I tickled at his hairline with my nails.

"I'm sorry I dragged you over here," I said, still keeping the eye contact, a soft smile on my face.

My fingers vibrated against the back of his neck as he laughed deeply, "Dylan, do you really think I'd be here if I didn't want to be?"

My smile widened and I stood taller in my shoes.

Did I dream you dreamed about me? 

_Were you hare when I was fox?_

_Now my foolish boat is leaning_

_Broken lovelorn on your rocks,_

_For you sing, "Touch me not, touch me not, come back tomorrow:_

_O my heart, O my heart shies from the sorrow"_

Forward and back we stepped careful not to collide. Neither of us were dancers. We both knew that. But for some reason, together, we just worked, and I would like to say that at that moment everything made sense. But that only happens in fairytales. And neither of our lives were fairytales in any shape or form.

_I am puzzled as the newborn child_

_I am troubled at the tide:_

_Should I stand amid the breakers?_

_Should I lie with Death, my bride?_

_Hear me sing, "Swim to me, Swim to me, Let me enfold you:_

_Here I am, Here I am, Waiting to hold you"_

The song ended and after saying goodbye to my brother, who didn't seem to know who I was, let alone the girl he was talking to about when my father had been called up to fight in Vietnam and went on a hunger strike for 4 weeks – or so the government thought, really he'd been sneaking food –, Jack and I returned to Jerry and Camille's car for the long drive back to Detroit.

Midway through the journey, just as the static on the radio was sending me off to sleep, I heard buzzing from Jack's side of the dashboard. He reached for his cell phone and, shifting in my seat, I turned myself around to face him as he answered it.

"Hello?"

I heard a muffled voice on the other end of the line.

"Oh, hey, Bobby," Jack replied to the muffle, trying his hardest not to snicker. "This is, like, the first time you've ever actually called me."

I watched the road in front of us as we changed lanes smoothly so that we could speed in front of a red convertible.

There were more muffled words from the phone.

Jack's smile broadened, as though he was excited to be teasing his older brother, and he said, "Aw, come on, man. Mom always taught us not to ask to speak to someone's friend if you've called said person's phone. It's rude."

More muffles.

"Naw, sorry, man, you're gonna have to ask nicer than that."

From the other end I clearly heard, "_JACK, GIVE DYLAN THE FUCKING PHONE!_"And promptly, Jack did so, handing the phone to me.

Holding the phone to my ear with caution I said, "Hello?"

"Dylan," I heard Bobby's voice croak and it sounded as though he was in emotional pain.

"Yeah, Bobby."

His next words would reverberate in my skull for the rest of my life and I knew as soon as the first word was spoken what was to come:

"Michael died last night."

Michael died.

_Michael _died.

Michael _died._

_Michael died._

Dropping the phone, I grabbed onto the dashboard, my stomach churning and I knew for sure I was gonna be sick. "Pull over," I shouted to Jack, who immediately responded by making a sharp change in lanes.

Once we'd reached the side of the highway, I opened my door with such force that for a moment I thought it might come unhinged, and just as I had expected, my stomach was emptied within seconds, and then I was on my hands and knees, beating the ground with my fists, screaming blue murder.

Jack sprinted around the car, bringing me to my feet, where he held me as I clawed at his chest, desperately trying to breathe.

Tears streaming.

Head screaming.

Blood rushing.

My own voice crying, "Oh God. He's gone, Jackie. He's gone."

XXXXXXXX

Author's note: Okay, so nobody hate or kill me. I've been having a kinda hard time since I last posted and I'm sorry to all my readers and reviewers who thought I was dead. I'm gonna try and get the next chapter up by next month (I wish I was joking), but I still want people to read and review, because, believe me when I say (and all those other writers out there will understand what I mean) that the ability to make people enjoy what you write is blessing and I thank and think of each and every one of you constantly.

Now for the long overdue review replies:

Professor Simms: I know, I know, still no sex in the champagne room. But I'm hoping it will be soon too. Thank you for the very kind words, they meant a lot.

EbonyRose02: It's difficult to say exactly how many chapters are left. I have a basic outline for the story, so judging by that, I'd say there were about 10 chapters left, probably more. Also, I have a sequel in mind… So don't fret! X

Verona Sage: I'm so sorry I had to put you through that again! New year, larger load of work. However, it's the last year of high school, which obviously makes up for absolutely everything. I hope this chapter was satisfying enough and you continue to be freakishly happy. Lol.

I run with scissors: ah, fluffiness, one of the best things about fan fiction. It makes me happy too. Thank you so much for telling me that I have some of the best English skills. I always thought I kinda sucked at English. Also, I loved that term, "strictly-dickly", that was fantastic. I'd never heard that before. Also, do you by any chance live in Florida? I ask 'cause I have a guy friend who moved to Florida from New York and back a few months ago and he kinda matches your description. Just an observation.

Shining Star of Valinor: Why, hello there! Yes, I do know how much you love this story now. I hope you don't fall out of your seat again, though! I don't know if I could afford a lawyer if you sued me. Dylan's breakdown is, as you can see, just around the corner. But don't worry, she'll be okay in the end. Congrats on your SATs from like 5 months ago! That's amazing! Applications are taking up most of my time at the moment. Ugh, I hate colleges. I DON'T WANNA GROW UP! HELP! x

Smilin Flash: Herro, my darling. I've just put you to bed. Weird. Anywho, I love you more than I could possibly write or say and you honestly deserve the best in this life. I love you, I love you, I love you. Xoxoxoxo

ImAdctd2A3rdClssRkStr: Glad to see you're stuffing your face right and left. Only joking, you know I love you to pieces, from the top of your head to the toes of your cookie stuffed body. As always, thank you for your review, it is much appreciated. I hope life is treating you well, as it should be. Xoxoxoxox P.S. Update that story of yours.

Electricxrain: I am greeting you with a belated hello. After 4 months! Here is more, my friend. Enjoy. Xoxox

Lady of chaos and tragedy: Sorry for the wait! Thank you so much for the compliments, they mean an extraordinary amount! Sorry, I can't share my talent at the moment, I'm trying to get through high school! Maybe next year though?

OldSchoolBetty: Here is your new chapter, my friend!

XMonsterx: Good luck with your story! Ugh, don't even get me started on Four Brothers obsessions. I've lost my DVD somewhere and I've been holding onto my life by a string. Thank you so much for the review and let me know when you've posted your story! X

.blood.sex.booze.: Here it is… At last! Thank you for reviewing twice! You were actually the straw that broke the camel's back and I realized that I was leaving too many people hanging. Silly me but ah well…

Thank you also to everyone who've been reading as well, my hits page is off the charts!


	12. Opus 35 aka The Half Chapter

****

AN: This chapter wasn't supposed to be this short. It wasn't even supposed to be a chapter at all, but a sudden strike of inspiration at 1 in the morning is exactly how it came to be. It stands kind of on its own and I'm hoping that the true loss of Michael is convincing enough and is well understood by all you readers. I won't reply to the reviews until the next chapter 'cause it's quite late and I have school in the morning. Sorry for the depressing nature of this chapter. It's just one of those days. And, of course, new reviews are always loved and appreciated, but don't feel obligated. Thank you.

****

Chapter 12: Opus #35 (AKA The 1/2 Chapter)

I could be dead.

I should be dead.

Countless times have I heard the passenger's seat called "the death seat". The chances of surviving are slight. Especially in accidents as critical as the one in question.

I shouldn't be here. I should be as dead as Michael. Not watching water drip onto the porcelain of the sink, trickle down into the drain, and then disappear into the unknown, only to have its place taken over by the next drop. Again. And again.

Right now I had my cheek pressed against the tile floor, probably leaving a cube-like indent on my face when I returned to the bathtub, my regular resting spot. But caring is the last thing on my list.

The funeral was a few days before. All of Michael's students and friends came to show their support – they'd always respected him --, Jack, Bobby, and Jerry came along to show their moral support. Michael's family, although they were heartbroken, were unable to attend. The idea made me want to spit at their feet with disgust. I stood alone, not wanting anyone to touch my shoulder, rub my back, or wipe my tears. Many spoke, showing their love and affection for their 'beloved teacher and friend.' But I, myself, hadn't said a word. What could I possibly say that all those people didn't already know? That he would've made a great father? That he always knew what to say and when to say it? I was no one special, and all I could think about was how most of those attending were wishing I had died instead. Who was _I_ to live for?

I barely knew what day it was, it had been at least 5 days since my breakdown on the highway. After about 20 minutes of hysterical crying, Jack held me until I fell asleep, both of us shivering from the brisk air passing directly through our jackets, until finally I fell into a deep undisturbed sleep and woke up back in Evelyn's bed once again.

Placing most of my weight onto the counter of the sink, I stood to examine myself in the mirror. I'd barely slept, and the spare half hours when I did were bluntly ended by the memories of loss and grief. Eating had been minimal too and it only occurred when Jack pried the lock on the door open with a penknife. And even then it was just a few small pieces of toast and butter, which I would eat half of before flushing the remains down the toilet.

Never had I seen such dark circle under my eyes, and the sight of myself caused me to grimace. My hair was a car wreck (no distasteful pun intended), and it was excruciating to draw a mere hand through it, let alone a brush. I felt weak. Physically weak, and taking a deep breath, I lowered myself back onto the cold ground.

Every so often I would hear the creaking of the floorboards outside, on which stood one of the four brothers, trying to listen for any signs of life. I made sure to breathe extra loudly, or sigh dramatically, the sound reverberating off the tile floors and walls.

Jack, although his intentions were golden, had tried to enter my lair to talk. I could've taken his head off. I could've cried on his shoulder. I could've said how much it meant to me that he was here with me. But I did none of those things. I should have, but instead I sat in a deathly silence, staring at the black and white combinations beneath my bare feet. After a few minutes of silence, I sensed him nodded as he got to his feet, kissed my birds' nest hair, before walking out closing the door behind him.

Something stirred inside of my gut as I relayed this scene in my head. It made sense to me that at this crucial moment in my life, I was feeling without hope. Time and time again I had tried to explain to myself why that was, even before Michael died, though the answer was obvious. And at that moment, deep inside of my chest I felt a burning sensation. It wasn't the least bit comfortable, but for some reason unknown to me, it wasn't a painful discomfort. I felt delirious. Or drunk. Or both. My mind couldn't possibly be thinking straight. But I knew then exactly what I needed. Rhyme or reason had been forgotten days ago. Or maybe it was months ago? Where was the rhyme and the reason of this situation in the first place? Who had made it the everlasting law to follow either one?

I needed to feel something other than this.

Shakily, I pulled myself to my feet once more and, brushing the hair from my face with a light swipe of the hand, I pushed the door open and took my first step into the hall. Knees wobbling and head spinning, I stumbled my way over to the room I had come to know so well. I felt the need to steady myself on the doorframe before turning the handle and throwing Jack's bedroom door open with such force, that I felt, had I not been hanging on with both hands would've sent me flying into the room, in which resided a stunned and frightened looking Jack, who had leapt to his feet, in surprise.

For the first time since we'd met, I saw Jack Mercer with an intense glimmer of fear in his eyes. Fear that made each of us wonder what would happen next. Both of us stood, looking at each other with wide eyes and I could almost feel the beats of our hearts as one, and in any other circumstance, the whole situation would have been romantic.

Without a second blink, I slammed the door behind me and rushed forward, covering Jack's lips with my own with a strength I didn't even know I had left within me.

Not knowing what else to do, Jack kissed me back, the same amount of passion driving his lips. But the difference between us both, lay in the desperation behind my lips.

I crumpled the back of his t-shirt in my fists, clawing at his spine with untamed fingernails, both of us deepening the kiss, as though one mind was shared between two. He too was touching me, one hand gently cradling my neck with warm fingers, to weigh out my freezing ones. The other lay just above my hip, but his grip was of a gentle touch.

This was different. This was something else. This was what it felt to smother the pain with a feather pillow, until it ceased to struggle.

Trying to draw him closer to me, to feel his warmth, the comfort of his arms surrounding me, I curled my fingers around his belt and waistline and tugged, bringing my companion's hips against mine.

His finger's caught in my hair, burying their way to my scalp and I could feel myself -- although it was almost as though I was watching someone else do it -- bring my shaking hands to his belt buckle.

Suddenly, as if a light switch had been hit, the moment came to a cascading halt when Jack pulled away. He looked more scared now than he did before we kissed.

His eyes narrowed at me and when his words passed his lips they were horse and strained, "You don't want this."

Four words. That's all he had to say to put one increasingly large meaning across. Any other time it would've made sense to me. But this wasn't just any other time.

Uncharacteristically, I spat back immediately, "Don't fucking tell me what I don't fucking want, Jack. If I don't want something I'll fucking tell you."

My body shook on the spot and I felt like fainting was on the horizon. Jack stepped forward, hand outstretched to steady me, but slapping his hand away, I retreated back to the door through which I had entered. I was managing to scare myself with the small amount of energy I had left.

"Don't fucking touch me."

He stepped forward.

"Dylan."

I edged back.

"Don't fucking say my name."

Again, Jack advanced, sincerity and worry covering his face. I looked around in panic, grabbing the nearest object and pelting it at his head with little energy. He ducked, only just dodging the magazine, which hit the floor with a hollow "_thunk_".

"Get the fuck away from me!" I screamed as tears began to sting at my eyes and my cheeks felt hot when I reached up to brush away the feeling. I felt panic rising once again and I continued to stumble backward until my back hit the door.

"This isn't you," I heard Jack say, but I could no longer see him.

My heart pounded loudly in my ears, along with pumping blood, straining to get through arteries so small. I brought my hands to my ears and began to scream in hysterical sobs of dry desperation.

_Why am I here?_

_Why is Michael dead?_

_Why is Evelyn gone?_

Before I could think another word, I felt Jack. Just Jack. First his hands caressing my arms. Then engulfing my entire frame with his. Even with me trying to beat through his hold on me; even with me trying to claw at his chest; even with me screaming and shouting in his ears any curses I could think of, Jack refused to let me go.

Then, without warning everything stopped. When nothing should have stopped at all, it did, and I felt as though I was in pieces at rock fucking bottom. The energy, which I'd had moments before, was gone completely and now I was a broken mess in the arms of Jack Mercer.

Jack Mercer, the man who had kept me company in the hospital after so much time and waiting.

Jack Mercer, who had opened his home to me on many occasions and dealt with all the surliness I had thrown his way.

Jack Mercer, who held me hands as I tried to keep myself from plummeting onto the stone cold ice.

Jack Mercer, the very same that held me in his arms that night, with my head buried in his chest, the blankets of his bed covering us both. One body, one mind, one heart.

XXXXXXXXX

**This chapter is dedicated to Blaine T. Alley, taken before his time at 17 years of age on August 15th 2005. Beloved friend, brother, and son. We fucking miss you, buddy. **


	13. Restless

**Chapter 13: Restless**

"Ow! Jesus Christ, motherfuck—"

"Be careful," I heard Jack say, as he tightened his grip on my arm and continued to lead me… somewhere still unknown to me. "Step," he said from in front of me, a useless comment, as I managed to trip anyway, causing me to swear again. "Be _careful_."

"I'm fucking _blindfolded, _Jack," I snapped back.

An excited chuckle, "I know, isn't it great? We're almost there, so just be patient."

"I don't fucking care where we're going. If you remember, I didn't _want _to do this, it's just you batted your disgustingly big blue eyes at me and—"

"You just couldn't resist and you're not the first." He was so goddamn cocky.

A few moments of angry silence past before I spoke again with a sigh, "Where the fuck are we going?"

"Two seconds ago you didn't care."

"Two seconds ago I didn't find you this condescending."

Another smack from something on my hip shut me up, as the wound throbbed underneath my jeans.

It was a month to the day since Michael had died. I hadn't left the house much and Jack and I spent most of our time watching all 10 seasons of "The Simpsons" on DVD in his room. He'd rarely leave me alone, but when he did it was usually to buy food and cigarettes for the both of us, weed for him, or more DVDs.

One day he'd come back from the store with a journal. You know, one of those marble pattern composition books that we used in high school, the ones that usually had some guy's name scribbled on the back in a cartoon heart. Jack noticed me looking at it warily as he unpacked beer into the mini fridge in his room. After he'd finished, he grabbed it and squatted down in front of me, holding the black and white book out for me to take and inspect. He grinned like he'd done something reward worthy.

"_Wow… A journal…" another pause as he waited for me to be ecstatic, "…What'do you want, a medal?" I asked, deadpan, the wary look still on my face._

_Jack sighed, "I saw it in the drugstore and thought it might be a good idea."_

_I must have been looking at him like he'd had lobsters crawling out of his ears because he dropped down from his squatting position to a cross-legged seated position, a defeated look on his face._

"_When I first came here I had demons continually running around my head." He wasn't looking at me, but I, myself, couldn't seem to look away from him. "From my past, my present, what I thought my future would hold…" He trailed off and I recognized the line he'd just spoken to be from one of his songs. A word caught in his throat as he tried to speak again, "One day Evelyn came back from the store with a book just like this one. She said that all I had to do was write down all my memories, both good and bad. She promised me that I'd feel better, and that if I didn't, I could burn the book in its entirety and forget about everything." He handed the book to me and got up to retrieve something from his top drawer. When he returned to me he had an identical notebook to mine. The cover was faded from love and hate and the spine of it was peeling like bark from wood. He placed this one on top of the one already in my hands._

_Jack gestured to the notebook as I ran my hands over it, "That's number one out of ten. I'm still working on number eleven." _

_I looked up at him. "That's very Kevin Spacey in_ Se7en_ of you."_

_He smiled. "Yeah, well, I have a lot of demons."_

_Smiling back, I said, "Don't we all?"_

"OW! God dammit, Jack, you didn't say 'step' that time!" We were now on the carpeted floor of god knew where.

"Aw, suck it up, we're almost there."

"You said that ten minutes ago, Cisco—" Another trip. "Jesus! Oh, you are _so _getting burned in my journal tonight, don't even begin to think that I'm kidding. I will forever remember you in time for this precise moment. I'm glaring at you, by the way. You can't see because of the blindfold but I am, I really really am." I suddenly realized that we'd stopped.

Jack let go of my arms and brought his hands up to remove the cloth in front of my eyes. The light, as though I had never seen it before, burned my eyes, just like it had in the hospital after the accident. I shook my head to rid both the thought and the feeling and waited for my eyes to adjust to my surroundings.

"The movies?" I looked at him to see his 'I'm so pleased with myself that my face could implode' expression, the same one he'd had when he brought me the journal.

We were stood in the waiting area of the only single screened theatre left in Detroit. The architecture was that of 1940s: super high ceilings, faded colors that you could tell used to be bright, a chandelier even hung in the theatre itself. They usually played movies that had come out a few months ago, some independent films, foreign films, and on the weekends they'd play all the classics, like _Casablanca _and _Rebel Without a Cause_. I'd used to come here with my dad, he'd always had a thing for Rita Hayworth. Hell, I think I even came here with Evelyn a few years ago. _She_ always had a thing for Jimmy Stewart. I had no idea that Jack even knew this place existed.

"You know, you didn't have to blindfold me. If you really wanted to go see the Jackass movie, you could've just asked."

Jack chuckled, "I did, if you'll remember. You said 'no'."

I shrugged, taking another look around. It was so empty that it was almost eerie. Actually, we were the only people in sight.

"That's not why we're here, though," he said walking over behind me while I stared at a poster for some Spanish horror flick. Jack grabbed my hand and dragged me to the nearest theatre door and opened it for me.

"Ladies first."

I stepped inside. "Try telling that to Bobby," I called behind me. Again, my eyes adjusted to the new lighting. I spun around to see Jack looking smug again. "How come we're the only people here?"

Walking up the aisle, straight past me, he said, "It's Monday. The theatre's closed on Monday."

Confused, I spun around again. "Then how're_ we_ here?"

Jack spun to face me, grinning, "That's a very profound question."

I didn't have to say anything, just cocked my head and crossed my arms over my Tootsie Pop t-shirt and coat, my eyebrows raised in annoyance and impatience.

Defeated, Jack looked at the ground and two-stepped towards me. When he finally stood right in front of me, he reached out his hands and placed them on my upperarms. "Look, I know the fact that it's been one month since Michael past away isn't exactly going unnoticed to you—" I looked down, avoiding his eyes, "—but I just wanted to make today special so that wouldn't be the only thing you could remember about today… If that makes any sense whatsoever…"

I half smiled and lifted my eyes again, "Actually, strangely enough, it does." I paused before adding, "And I'm grateful. For this day and for you. I shouldn't be scared anymore. I shouldn't be guilty that I'm still here. It's what Michael would have wanted, right?"

My companion nodded, "Exactly, which is why, we are going to sit down, eat some popcorn and watch the ULTIMATE movie of all movies…" He started walking me down to one of the rows where there was already popcorn, soda, and chocolate waiting for us.

"Which is..?"

"_Die Hard._"

"…You can't be serious."

"...Okay, no, I'm not. _But _one day we _will _watch _Die Hard _and it will be awesome—"

"_Jack."_

"Okay, okay, _Breakfast at Tiffany's_."

"Aww, that is _so _sweet--"

"Yeah, alright, but this is the one and only time that I'm gonna be watching any chick flick with you." Jack rolled his eyes, taking a seat next to the huge tub of popcorn.

Flopping down in the seat next to him, I giggled, "No worries, Jackie, you'll love it to bits. Just like you thoroughly enjoyed _Notting Hill _and _You've Got Mail._"

"Yeah… _I MEAN NO!_"

I took a handful of popcorn after shrugging my coat. "I still can't believe you picked this movie," I shook my head, bringing my knees to my chest and picking at the popcorn in my hand selectively.

"Yeah, well, it was either this or _The South Park Movie _so consider yourself lucky."

"Dude, have you _seen The South Park Movie_? That shit fuckin' kicks."

A shrug from Jack as the lights began to dim and the fraying screen in front of us reminded us "please do not talk during the movie". I thought for a moment.

"So, really, how're we here?"

He smile mysteriously without looking at me. "I know a guy," he said, simply as the lights began to dim.

"Of course you do."

There was silence as the opening credits of the movie began to roll and "Moon River" began to play. I was trying to pick my moment so what I was about to say, so the statement wouldn't be taken as a big deal.

"Jack," I started, keeping my eyes on the screen. "Well—I just wanted to say, you know—just th-thanks." That sounded right. "Yeah, just thanks. For everything."

I could hear a smile in Jacks voice as he replied, "No worries."

**XXXXXX**

"I found you a job."

"You'ff foun' me a wha?"

"Don't talk with your mouth full," came Jack's response from behind "The Funnies" I'd handed him a few minutes earlier. Between us sat Bobby, cleaning his guns with excellent precision and ripping on Jack with the same amount meticulousness.

I gave Jack the finger before turning back to Jerry, bewildered.

"A job," came the excited response from Jerry as he sat down in the seat next to me.

"Hey, Jerry, how come you never get jobs for your own brothers?" Bobby asked in mock offence.

Without missing a beat, "'Cause ya'll are a bunch of idiots, that's why. And if you washed _yourself _as much as you washed your damn guns—"

"What's the job, Jerry?" I asked before a fight could break out, like they had so many times before. I had (sort of) gotten used to the ways in this household. It was kind of an every-man-for-himself deal. Unless you were a woman. The Mercer household was a very sexist regime, considering they were all raised by a woman. But I was getting used to it. Or was trying to, anyway.

"It's a filing and answering phones job at the new office that just opened up on Harvey Avenue."

By the tone of his voice you would've thought he was offering me a job on VH1 or something. I don't really know what I expected. I hadn't had a job for about a month and a half, and I really should have been jumping at the chance to be working as anything.

I raised an eyebrow, "You mean a receptionist?"

Jerry's shoulders deflated in disappointment, "What? What's wrong?"

I shrugged and realized that Bobby and Jack had both taken a new found interest in our conversation. "Yeah, what's wrong?" Bobby asked, placing down his favorite .38 caliber. The very same .38 caliber I'd pulled out of the kitchen cabinet a month and a half earlier. "You've been bitching about not having a job for god knows how long and now that you've been presented the perfect opportunity, you turn it away?"

Waving my hand in the air, I turned back to the newspaper once more, "Then you take the job. Please, be my guest, fulfill your dreams of becoming a receptionist."

Bobby backed down and returned to his guns, "Nah, man, that job's for chicks."

As I rolled my eyes, Jerry continued, "Dylan, think about this rationally: You haven't had a job for months—"

"That's not my fault!" I interrupted, defensively.

Smiling, Jerry shook his head in understanding. God damn, he was always so annoyingly understanding, and yet it was difficult to despise him for it. He placed his hand over mine, "We know it's been hard but you need to start taking the baby steps to getting back on your own two feet."

"That sentence doesn't make any sense whatsoever," Jack piped up.

Bobby, of course, joined in, "You know, he's right, Jerry. If you're gonna try and make a point, making sense is kind of a must." A mocking shrug followed from the eldest of the three.

Jerry was rubbing his face with his hands before crying out in a tone of desperation, "Godammit, Bobby, why are you here?"

The member at the head of the table was wiping off a smudge on the handle of a newly acquired shotgun with a deerskin cloth before placing it back on the placemat in front of him. "Because I live here, Jerry. And so does Cracker Jack and Dylan. You're the thing that doesn't belong in this picture."

I could tell that Jerry had already tuned his brother out and he put a hand on my shoulder as he stood up and straightened out his gloves. Despite the fact that it was February, the Detroit air had managed to get even colder over the past few weeks, much to the dismay of Bobby, whose new car had the habit of freezing up whenever he had the desire to go reek havoc on someone or something, which was pretty much every night.

"Just… think about it, Dylan. This could be something really good for you," Jerry said and handed me a slip of paper with his own messy handwriting scrawled across it. "I scheduled an interview for you. I know the guy and he understands your situation. So, if you want it, show up there on Thursday at," he leaned over to check what he'd written, "2. Or if you don't—"

"If I don't, then I won't. Yeah, I got it, " I said with a sigh before sliding out from the table and stalking over to the kitchen to get rid of my wasted cereal. The thought of taking another spoonful made my stomach growl in objection. When I was safe inside the kitchen, I lazily set down my bowl before taking a first real look at the information Jerry had given me.

Truth be told, I had half a mind to toss it in the garbage with the old pizza boxes and Chinese takeout cartons. But something stopped me. Maybe it was Evelyn, once again trying to get me to move on with my life.

"_You only get one chance to do anything properly, Dylan. It's life."_

"_I know that, Evelyn, but some things are harder and take more time to heal than others."_

"_Then what are you waiting for? Get your life back on your own terms, not the terms that life has set out for you."_

With one more look at my future and past, I stepped towards the fridge and stuck my interview information right between crayon-colored drawings of rainbows and a family of five holding hands. Evelyn was right. I needed to get my life started again. Even if I was going to be kicking and screaming all the way, I had to take every chance I was given.

I felt my eyes close to tears, so I was relieved when Jack pushed himself through the kitchen door and pulled me in to a hug. Burying my face in his chest, I felt warm. I felt safe and sound for the first time in a long time. His right hand traced small circled on my back, while the other stroked my hair.

"I'm scared, Jack."

"I know," came the low-voiced reply.

**XXXXXXX**

Hair, check.

Black Skirt, check.

Black Stockings, check.

Blindingly white shirt, check.

Make up, check.

Hair… check… ish.

I sighed, brushing a lone strand that would not do what it was told away of my face. It was Thursday, the day of my interview on Harvey Avenue. My head was killing me already and I had 3 more hours before I actually had to be there. Still, I stood there, examining myself in the full-length mirror in Jack's room, making sure everything was perfect.

"You look nice."

I spun around quickly to find Jack leaning against the doorframe with a towel low on his waist, his hair stuck wet on his neck. He'd just gotten a haircut a few days earlier, as it had been growing dangerously close to below his shoulders and I think he was getting sick of Bobby's antics.

"I guess," I shrugged, turning back to the mirror to once more smooth out my outfit, before taking a seat on the bed.

"Take a compliment," Jack chuckled and strode over to the dresser to grab some clothes for himself. Although I said I would've rather taken the bus the mere 10 stops to Harvey Avenue, Jack wouldn't have it. He was to be taking me there, dropping me off and then waiting in the car until I finished – his decision, not mine. But I had to admit, it did take a lot off my mind. I continued watching him without really seeing him.

"You okay?" I heard him ask and my eyes zoomed back in to focus on the person in front of me.

"Yeah," I smiled, and it wasn't a fake smile either. "I was actually just thinking about my first job interview ever."

"Oh yeah? What was that like, then?"

I giggled, shaking my head, "Awful. Everything that could've gone wrong did."

"Did you get the job?"

Sydney leaped up onto the bed next to me, begging for affection. She'd been getting quite fat since we'd moved in, mostly because no one knew when she'd been last fed, so they'd just do it without asking, and also partly because the food she was being fed was generally Chinese food. Only I could be bothered enough to feed her the proper diet.

Returning my attention back to the question, "Hah, no. I suppose I couldn't really blame them. I was hung over and ridiculously emotional." Jack looked at me with a quizzically. "College," I stated simply and he nodded, pretending he understood.

I knew he didn't. Not that it mattered. I knew Jack, and I knew how smart he was, but I also knew how a constant school situation would have driven him crazy. He did finish high school, which I think he was silently pleased with, but he knew better than to brag about it in front of his brothers. Bobby had been expelled from several odd schools before Evelyn had finally had enough and made him start working at a local garage. Angel was the same and Jerry, although he hadn't finished his high school education, I seem to remember he'd graduated from night school about 4 years ago.

As for Jack, I think he was proud of what he'd achieved at school and in his music, his one and only true love, which I guess is all you can really ask for in life. I knew I was proud of him. It's not easy to carry on, especially through some of the stuff that Jack's gone through. He was braver than I felt I could ever be. I had strong feelings of envy towards him for it.

My thoughts were interrupted when I felt sharp teeth sinking into my thumb and I looked down to find Sydney savagely chewing on my bare skin. And on top of that she'd been shedding all over my black skirt.

"Why, you ungrateful little—" I stood up and desperately tried to brush the tiny cat hairs off. My efforts, however, were in vain.

"Here," Jack said, handing me the sticky hair removing brush from his dressing table. He was dressed now, his hair almost dry, and at that moment of looking at him, I saw him as radiant. I always saw him as a beautiful human being, but through all the scars, all the tattoos, all the pain that he hid behind… all of it seemed to fall away just then. Just him standing in the middle of his room, constantly brushing his hair out of his face. It was all so simple, yet so beautiful.

Then I sighed as I looked at my watch. It was time to face the music.

Two hours later I walked out of the menacing office building on Harvey Avenue. I saw Jerry's car parked right where'd I'd left it and Jack sitting patiently in the driver's seat, obviously listening to something on the radio, as his head was bobbing up and down in time with some sort of beat. Probably Guns and Roses or Black Sabbath, due to the way he was also wiggling his fingers in an air-guitar fashion.

I stood for a few moments in the underpass of the entrance of the building, lighting a cigarette as I watched snow flurries pass in front of my eyes. I felt as though, although in the past month I hadn't done much as far as my life went, this was the first time in a long time since I couldn't even remember when that I was able to catch my breath. So much had happened in little more than a year and a half, and yet it seemed as though most of it centered 'round this person I'd only just met. This talented, sweet, funny, amazing person who I could barely take my eyes off at the moment.

Jack understood pain, that much was sure. God knows he'd had to endure enough of it in his lifetime –both emotional and physical. Jack understood my pain, even if I didn't understand it myself.

"How'd it go?" he asked as I slid into the passenger's seat.

I shrugged, looking in the white paper bag in my lap and pulling out a chocolate covered doughnut, handing it to Jack before pulling a glazed one for myself. "Oh… you know."

He nodded in understanding, bowing his head to take a bite of his treat. I let out a chuckle, picking frosting off, "I hated you the first time I met you, you know."

"Has anything really changed?" asked the deep voice next time me.

After I pretended to ponder this for a few moments, I shrugged again and pressed my fingers into the dough, "I guess not."

"I liked you the first time I met you," he responded a few seconds later with a small, almost inaudible chuckle.

"Why? 'Cause I was so spunky and persnickety?"

A full-out laugh this time. "Pretty much, yeah." I shot him a smile and he continued. "Also, you know, the obvious."

I raised an eyebrow, "'The obvious'?"

His cheeks had the beginnings of a blush rising. "Yeah, you know, just the way you look and stuff."

"The way I look and stuff?"

"Are you trying to make this difficult or are you just a natural at it?"

"A bit of both."

Jack sighed heavily, turning his eyes on his doughnut once again, concentrating on it intently. I tried to maneuver myself so I could look into his eyes, but was unable to, due to the restrictions of the space in the car. His eyes were far away. But not in the way I'd seen them in a while. They weren't filled with pain like they were whenever he even touched the surface of his past. I wanted to reach out and touch him, but I was afraid that my hand would fall right through. So I just kept watching, waiting.

"I just mean – what I'm trying to say is – you're beautiful and stuff… I guess."

I looked at him as though he'd just recited Pledge of Allegiance backwards. Finally, I came out with this, "…Thanks… I guess."

Jack thought about this for a moment, still not looking at me. It looked like he was trying to decide if he'd said what he wanted to say the right way. At last, as though to answer his own mental question, he nodded a few times and took a bite of his doughnut.

We ate in silence for a few more minutes before his voice broke it once again, "I'm sorry about the job. That really sucks." His voice sounded sincere but I didn't move my eyes to look at him.

"Oh, I got the job," I said popping the last bit of doughnut in my mouth.

"You did?" Jack said, looking at me, eyebrows raised in surprise.

I looked at him with a grin, "Yeah."

He looked forward again, starting the car, "Cool."

"Yeah."

**XXXXXXXXXX**

Author's Note:

So, I'm _not _dead, as some of you may have gathered. I'm really really sorry to leave you guys hanging. And I know I haven't written in a fucking year, but, in all honesty, I have been writing this chapter for literally a year and a half. I'm still not happy with it and it's kind of silly as chapters go, but I thought it might give you guys something to hold you over til I write the next one, which could be a while. Music school really takes up the majority of my limited amount of time

I won't do review replies in chapters anymore, as I am WAY too behind. But if you review this chapter I will reply in a private message. I would write a longer note, but I'm exhausted major style.

Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed over the past year and half, I really really appreciate everything.

Much much much love,

Your lovely (although, it may be a debatable statement) authoress.

p.s. if anyone is interested, I have some videos on youtube of me doing a few covers of songs. My user name's pulpepitome if you are.


End file.
